M'^ 


m 


_-  B  s  'S  ailift.'ti 


,#. 


m. 


'«•) 


S^B 


.« 


W 


lil*ra. 


.C*l 


s  s  tt  ,a  »■ 

'   ";  B   K   fi 


s  a, 


BO"! 


«JB 


,C^ 


JB 


MJsiji, 


i?K?aiIttI* 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY- 
OP  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
EDWIN  CORLE 


PRESENTED  BY 
JEAN  CORLE 


VOICES    IN    THE    NIGHT 


;V)^o. 


VOICES   IN   THE    NIGHT 


A    CHROMATIC  FANTASIA 


BV 

FLORA   ANNIE   STEEL 

AUTHOR  OF  "  ON  THE  FACE  OF  THE  WATERS,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1900 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1900, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Nortoooli  ^tf8is 

J.  S.  CuBhing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


PR 

Sf73 
S  l3Zv 


rO   THE   READER 

I  apologise  for  attempting  to  play 
the  Chromatic  Fantasia  of  India 
on  a  penny  whistle. 

F.   A.    STEEL. 

Talgarth, 

Machynlleth, 

znd  April  1 900. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I.  The  Totalisator 

II.  The  Kite-Flyers 

III.  Cobwebs     .... 

IV.  An  Unforgotten  Past     . 
V.  Shark  Lane 

\T.  The  Money  of  Fools 

VII.  Crackers  and  Squibs 

VIII.  The  Temple  of  Viseshwar 

IX.  Uncertainties  . 

X.  The  Sinews  of  War 

XI.  The  Spirit  of  Kings  and  Slaves 

XII.  A  Mother's  Dirge   . 

XIII.  A  Valse  k  Deux  Temps  . 

XIV.  In  the  Toils     . 
XV.  The  Ram  Rucki 

XVI.  The  Prison  of  Life 

XVII.  The  Pen  and  the  Sword 

XVIII.  The  Freedom  of  Death 

XIX.  On  the  Bed  Rock   . 

vii 


PAGE 
I 

20 

37 

51 

69 

82 

97 

"3 

131 

147 

166 

180 

195 
212 
229 

245 
261 

273 
291 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX.  The  Old  Wine 305 

XXI.  Red  Paint 321 

XXII.  The  Better  Part 336 

XXIII.  A  Memorable  Occasion 352 

XXIV.  The  Sovereignty  of  Air 369 

XXV.  Secret  Despatches 3S6 

XXVI.  Fair  Odds 402 


PROLOGUE 

The  new  year  was  already  some  hours  old,  but  the 
world  to  which  it  had  come  was  still  dark.  Dark  with 
a  curious  obscurity  that  was  absolutely  opaque  yet 
faintly  luminous  because  of  the  white  fog  which  lay 
on  all  things  and  hid  them  from  the  stars ;  for  the 
sky  above  was  clear,  cold,  almost  frosty. 

That  was  why  the  fog,  born,  not  of  cool  vapour  seek- 
ing for  cloud  life  among  the  winds  of  heaven,  but  of 
hot  smoke  loving  the  warmth  of  dust  and  ashes,  clung 
so  closely  to  the  earth  —  to  its  birthplace. 

It  was  an  acrid,  bitter  smoke,  not  even  due  to  the  dead 
hearth-fires  of  a  dead  day,  since  they  —  like  all  else  per- 
taining to  the  domestic  life  of  India — give  small  outward 
sign  of  existence,  but  to  the  smouldering  piles  of  litter 
and  refuse  which  are  lit  every  evening  upon  the  out- 
skirts of  human  habitation.  Dull  heaps  with  a  minimum 
of  fire,  a  maximum  of  smoke,  where  the  humanity  which 
has  produced  the  litter,  the  refuse,  gathers  for  gossip  or 
for  warmth. 

Even  in  the  fields  beyond  the  multitude  of  men,  where 
some  long-limbed  peasant,  watching  his  hope  of  harvest, 
dozes  by  a  solitary  fire,  this  same  smoke  rises  in  a  solid 
column  until,  beaten  down  by  the  colder  moister  air 
above,  it  drifts  sideways  to  spread  like  a  vast  cobweb 
over  the  dew-set  carpet  of  green  corn. 

So  it  was  small  wonder  if  here,  at  Nushapore,  with  its 
fifty  thousand  and  odd  dwellers  in  cantonments,  its  two 
hundred  and  odd  thousand  dwellers  in  the  town,  the 
smoke  fog  hid  earth  from  heaven ;  hid  even  the  steady 
coming  of  day. 

For  it  was  close  on  dawn.  The  most  silent,  most  rest- 
ful hour  of  an  Indian  night,  yet  one  still  holding  that 
vague  sense  of  life  and  movement  inseparable  from  an 


X  PROLOGUE 

environment  in  which  there  is  no  set  time  for  sleeping 
or  waking ;  in  which  folk  gossip  all  night,  and  sleep  all 
day,  should  the  humour  so  take  them. 

It  had  so  seized  on  some  one,  apparently,  this  New 
Year's  night,  for  two  voices  rose,  not  in  whispers,  but 
monotone,  from  one  of  the  verandahs  in  Government 
House  —  rose  insistently,  until,  from  within  the  closed 
doors,  came  a  sharp  though  drowsy  order  for  silence. 

''  Chupra'o!'' 

The  voices  ceased;  such  orders,  even  when  drowsy, 
must  be  obeyed,  since  they  come  from  the  master :  at 
any  rate,  till  he  sleeps  again. 

So  the  minutes  slipped  by.  Upon  the  round  rim  of 
the  level  wheatfields  beyond  the  smoke,  the  violet  sky 
above  the  cobwebs  faded  to  grey  at  the  sun's  approach. 
The  fog  round  Nushapore  grew  whiter,  more  luminous. 

Then  the  voices  began  again ;  monotonous,  insistent. 
Were  they,  in  old  world  fashion,  beguiling  the  reality 
of  darkness  with  legends  of  some  heroic  age  of  light } 
Were  they,  more  modernly,  making  that  reality  darker 
by  taking  thought  for  the  morrow,  and  discussing,  say, 
the  depreciation  of  the  rupee.''  Or  were  they  dreamers 
still,  though  wakeful,  and  were  they  discoursing  of  equal- 
ity and  the  rights  of  the  individual  ?  Such  theories  are 
to  be  heard  nowadays  even  in  this  Indian  smoke  fog. 

"  CJuiprao,  you  brutes,  or — " 

The  threatening  voice  paused  as  a  dull  reverberation 
shivered  through  the  chill  air.  It  was  the  first  gun  of 
the  Imperial  salute  which  every  New  Year's  morning 
proclaims  that  Victoria,  Kaiser-i-hind,  reigns  over  the 
fog,  and  the  voices  in  it. 

Now,  when  a  hundred  and  one  guns,  each  with  its  mes- 
sage of  mastery,  stand  between  a  man  and  his  sleep, 
what  use  is  there  in  commanding  silence  elsewhere .'' 

So  the  threat  ceased,  and  between  the  beats  of  the 
guns  the  voices  had  their  say  unchecked. 

About  what.^ 

That  is  a  difficult  question  to  answer,  when  the  voices 
are  in  the  night. 


VOICES   IN   THE    NIGHT 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    TOTALISATOR 

"  What's  the  big  blackboard  with  white  sums  ?  "  asked 
little  Jerry  Arbuthnot. 

Jack  Raymond,  who  was  holding  the  child's  hand, 
looked  down  at  the  six-year-old  figure  in  the  natty 
riding  suit  so  like  his  own,  save  for  the  racing  silk 
which  he  himself  wore  half  hidden   by  a  covert  coat. 

"  It  is  the  map  of  India,  "  he  began,  then  pulled 
up  at  the  sight  of  Jerry's  face.  "  You  shouldn't  believe 
everything  you're  told,  young  man  —  it  hampers  the 
sense  of  humour!  No,  Jerry,  that's  the  totalisator — a 
calculating  machine  for  doing  sums  in  the  compound 
rules.     Ask  Miss  Drummond  if  it  isn't.''  " 

The  girl  thus  challenged  let  the  cool  disdain,  which 
is  nowadays  so  often  the  prevailing  expression  of 
young  womanhood  for  manhood,  become  slightly  more 
aggressive. 

"  It  is  a  betting  machine,  Gerald  —  " 

"  Don't  profane  the  word.  Miss  Drummond,"  inter- 
rupted the  man.  "  Betting  is  a  bracing  mental  exercise. 
You  back  your  opinion  to  be  right  against  fixed  odds. 
But  this  five-rupee-in-the-slot-trust-in-Providence  business 
is  a  demoralising  compromise.  You  stand  neither  to  win 
nor  lose." 

"  Then,  please,  what  does  come  to  the  five  wupees  }  " 
asked  Jerry  urgently. 

"  Practical  boy !  "  commented  Jack  Raymond  with  a 
laugh.      "  It  is  '  as  you  was '  generally  ;    for  3'ou  see, 


2  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Jerry,  the  world  backs  the  favourite,  as  a  rule.  It  likes 
to  follow  a  lead !  And  if  you  divide  the  total  of  the 
tickets  by  their  number,  it's  poor  fun !  So  take  my 
advice,  young  man ;  when  you  totalise,  go  for  a  rank 
outsider,  and  stand  to  collar  the  lot !  " 

Lesley  Drummond,  being  the  child's  governess, 
frowned.  "  I  see  your  mother  arriving,  Gerald,"  she 
said,  "and  we  were  to  join  her  at  once.     Come!" 

But  Jerry  held  his  new-found  friend  fast  by  the  hand. 
"You  come  too,"  he  petitioned,  "my  mother  is  just  an 
orful  nice  person." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  during  which  the  child's 
grip  on  the  man  tightened,  before  the  latter  replied, 
"  I  know  that,  Jerry ;  your  mother  and  I  are  old  friends ; 
but  I  have  only  time  to  see  you  safe  across  the  green. 
I'm  up  in  this  race." 

"  I  used  to  wide  waces  when  I  was  in  India  once," 
began  the  child,  when  Lesley  cut  him  short. 

"  You  never  rode  a  race  in  your  life,  Gerald,  and  I 
can't  allow  you  to  say  that  you  have."  Then  she  turned 
suddenly,  in  the  purely  impersonal  confidence  of  griev- 
ance, to  the  stranger  beside  her  (for  they  had  only 
just  been  introduced  to  each  other)  and  said,  "  I  can't 
think  why,  but  ever  since  Gerald  landed  in  Bombay,  just 
a  week  ago,  he  has  had  a  bad  habit  of  claiming  to  have 
done  all  sorts  of  things  he  never  coicld  have  done.  Lady 
Arbuthnot  thinks  it  is  because  the  child  really  does 
remember  India  a  little.  You  see  he  was  past  four 
when  he  went  home.  But  that,"  she  added  magis- 
terially, with  a  frown  for  the  culprit,  "  does  not  excuse 
telling  stories  —  does  it.^" 

The  man's  blue  eyes,  so  curiously  overshadowed  by 
thick  bushy  fair  eyebrows,  sought  the  child's  cool  grey 
ones,  and  a  sudden  reflection  of  the  perplexed  obstinacy 
he  saw  in  them  came  to  his  own. 

"How  the  deuce  do  you  know  he  hasn't.?  "  he  mut- 
tered, half  to  himself.  "This  isn't  England,  where  you 
can  bet  your  last  dib  on  certainties."  Then  he  looked 
at  the  immaculate  white  collar  and  cuffs  of  the  figure  in 


THE    TO  TA  USA  TOR  3 

a  tailor-made  coat  and  skirt  beside  him,  and  gave  in  to 
convention  by  adding  resignedly,  "But  you  mustn't  tell 
whackers,  you  know,  Jerry  —  must  you?" 

"I  don't!"  protested  the  six-year-old.  "I  weally 
thought  I  had.  But  I  will,  anyhow,  when  I'm  big. 
An'  I'll  bet  wif  the  bookies  evewy  time,  Mr.  Waymond, 
like  you  do." 

That  glance  at  the  collar  and  cuffs  showed  guilt  in  it 
this  time.  "  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  the  conscious  sinner 
stoutly.  "You'll  be  a  mighty  big  swell  like  your  father. 
Sir  George  —  " 

"Please,  they  call  my  daddy  'His  Honour  the  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor' now,"  interrupted  Jerry;  "and  his 
salute  is  twenty-one  whole  guns.  They  made  an  orful 
booming  at  the  wailway  station.  But  I  liked  it.  An' 
the  twoops  pwesented  arms  to  him  to-day  at  the  Queen's 
pawade  —  didn't  they.  Miss  Dwummond.-'" 

"Of  course,  dear!  As  Lieutenant-Governor,  your 
father  is  entitled  to  these  honours,"  replied  Lesley, 
head  in  air. 

"Of  course!"  echoed  the  man  beside  her,  making 
her,  in  her  turn,  glance  at  him,  and  wonder  if  contempt 
or  envy  brought  that  odd  note  to  his  voice.  Either 
way,  she  admitted  reluctantly,  he  would  have  carried 
such  honours  bravely  ;  but  then  so  would  have  half 
the  Englishmen  she  had  seen  since  landing  at  Bombay. 
The  environment  of  India  had  a  trick  of  giving  an  air 
of  distinction  to  the  Anglo-Saxon. 

Radical  as  she  was,  inevitably,  seeing  that  she  had 
led  the  life  of  a  definitely  independent  woman  in  Eng- 
land for  six  years,  she  felt  a  sneaking  satisfaction  as 
she  walked  across  the  enclosure  with  the  tall  spare 
man,  whose  haggard  face  looked  still  more  haggard 
above  his  gay  racing  colours. 

The  afternoon  sun  sent  blue-black  shadows  behind 
them.  The  golden  glory  in  front  of  them  lay  lavishly 
on  the  shifting  kaleidoscope  of  many-hued  dresses.  To 
one  side,  the  pipers  of  a  Highland  regiment  strutted 
their  floating  tartans  through  a  pibroch.     To  the  other, 


4  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

rose  white  mess-tents  decorated  with  flowers  and  bunt- 
ing, each  centring  its  knot  of  crowding,  colourful 
guests. 

But  the  densest,  most  colourful  crowd  gathered  round 
the  totalisator  which  stood  between  the  first  and  second 
class  enclosures,  so  that  the  sergeants  in  uniform  could 
attend  at  the  same  time  to  both  its  five-rupee  board 
fronting  the  grand  stand,  and  its  one-rupee  board  giv- 
ing on  the  mixed  multitude  ;  could  attend  even  to  the 
slender  dark  hands  which  sometimes  stretched  over  the 
barrier  with  five  rupees  in  their  palms  and  a  petition  to 
be  allowed  the  higher  stake.  Hands  unable  to  grasp 
the  fact  that  five  lesser  gains  may  equal  one  greater 
gain ;  an  inability  provocative  of  much  needless  discon- 
tent all  over  the  world. 

Lesley  Drummond's  eyes,  as  she  walked  across  the 
lawn,  grew  dazzled  at  the  unusual  glitter  and  colour  of 
the  crowd,  her  ears  grew  confused  by  the  gamut  of 
civilisation  struck  by  the  varying  costumes.  There,  was 
the  first  note  of  Western  influence  in  a  pair  of  patent- 
leather  shoes ;  yonder,  the  last  echo  of  the  East  in  a 
white  turban  above  a  frock  coat. 

"It's  a  queer  crowd,"  said  Jack  Raymond  suddenly, 
as  if  in  explanation  of  her  look.  "  And  I  could  tell  you 
a  lot  of  queer  tales.  That  man,  for  instance  "  —  he 
nodded  after  a  burly  figure  in  a  tinsel  biretta  which  had 
just  thrust  a  flabby  waxen  hand  at  him  with  a  liquid 
Persian  compliment  on  the  New  Year  —  "  is  the  biggest 
brute  in  India.  A  Delhi  pensioner  by  rights,  but  he 
does  Buckingham  here  to  the  Rightful  Heir,  that  young 
sweep  to  the  left,  in  cloth  of  gold." 

"Rightful  Heir!"  echoed  Lesley  captiously,  "right- 
ful heir  to  what.-*"  Anglo-Indians  in  her  limited  experi- 
ence oscillated  between  supposing  her  crassly  ignorant 
or  absolutely  omniscient ;  and  either  treatment  annoyed 
her,  for  she  was  accustomed  to  consider  herself  and  to 
be  considered  thoroughly  well  informed. 

"The  whole  caboodle,"  rephed  Jack  Raymond  toler- 
antly.    "  You  see  there  were  kings  in  Nushapore  —  " 


THE    TOTAUSATOR  5 

"  I  know  that,  of  course  !  "  she  interrupted  impa- 
tiently,  "  but  do  they  still  claim  —  ?  " 

"  Great  Moses  !  Claim  ?  Nushapore  is  a  vox  clamavi, 
chiefly  to  mutiny  pensions  which,  being  mortgaged  up 
to  the  hilt,  are  of  no  use  to  any  one  but  the  usurers. 
But  tJiey  will  generally  lend  the  bankrupts  enough  for 
the  entrance-fee  to  the  races,  so  of  course  they  come 
here  in  crowds." 

"  Why  }  "  asked  the  girl,  feeling  herself  a  mere  mark 
of  interrogation. 

"  It's  a  change  from  betting  on  cocks  and  kites.  Be- 
sides, there's  the  position." 

"What  position  .'' "  she  asked,  with  a  prayer  for  patience. 

He  laughed  easily.  "  All  races  are  equal  on  a  course, 
Miss  Drummond ;  and  a  racecourse  is,  practically,  the 
only  place  where  the  native  meets  us  on  equal  terms. 
Look  !  There's  the  biggest  brute  in  Asia  elbowing  Mrs. 
Member-of-the-Board  Collins  at  the  totalisator !  If  he 
tried  it  on  elsewhere,  some  one  would  kick  him,  and  quite 
right  too." 

Lesley's  disdain  became  active,  though  she  told  her- 
self the  remark  was  only  to  be  expected  from  "  that 
type  of  man." 

"May  I  ask  why.''  "  she  said  superbly. 

"  Because  it  is  contrary  to  his  own  estimate  of  the 
proprieties,  and  it  is  impossible  to  be  virtuous  on  another 
person's  decalogue,  isn't  it  ? "  he  replied  coolly ;  then, 
ere  she  had  time  to  reply,  went  on :  "  There  are  a  lot 
of  chaps  want  kicking  in  this  crowd,  I  can  tell  you. 
For  instance,  do  you  see  that  man  buttonholing  the 
Rightful  Heir.?" 

"With  the  red  tie.?"  she  asked,  feeling  interested  in 
spite  of  herself.      "  Is  he  English  ?  " 

"  God  forbid  !  "  said  her  companion  piously.  "  Grecian 
Archipelago,  I  should  say  for  choice ;  but  he  won't  let 
on.  Anyhow,  he's  a  merchant ;  wheat,  diamonds,  dust, 
bones,  —  everything  out  of  which  he  can  screw  a.  pice. 
And  Jehan  Aziz,  the  Rightful  Heir,  has  the  finest 
table  emerald  in  the  world  —  the  old  king's  signet-ring. 


6  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Now  I  don't  mind  betting  it  will  be  in  Paris  before  the 
year's  out." 

"In  Paris!  —  why  in  Paris?  I  don't  understand  — 
nobody  could  be  expected  —  nobody  could  understand," 
protested  Lesley. 

Jack  Raymond  smiled.  "  Filthy  Lucre  —  his  real 
name  is  Philip  Lucanaster  —  does,  I  assure  you,  Miss 
Drummond !  He  knows  that  heirlooms  always  pay 
debts  of  honour."  He  paused  to  lift  his  cap  elabo- 
rately to  a  well-dressed  fair  woman  who  passed  with  a 
tall  dark  man  whose  face  had  a  wistful  look.  "  There's 
a  case  in  point,"  he  went  on  carelessly.  "  That  fellow  — 
he  is  a  pure-bred  Brahmin,  Miss  Drummond  —  is  pay- 
ing his  heirlooms  through  the  nose  because  he  con- 
tracted a  debt  of  honour  in  marrying  an  Englishwoman. 
She  has  made  him  sacrifice  home,  friends,  relations ; 
prints  his  cards  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chris  Davenant  —  his 
real  name  is  Krishn  Davenund  —  and  so  tries  to  hang 
on  to  the  frayed  edge  of  society" — he  glanced  at  an 
effusive  greeting  between  the  lady  in  question  and  Mr. 
Lucanaster. 

"  Poor  thing !  "  ejaculated  Lesley  with  the  wholesale 
defence  of  all  things  feminine  which  belongs  to  her 
type.     "What  a  terrible  experience  for  her  —  " 

"And  for  him,"  retorted  her  companion  drily.  " Matri- 
monial mistakes,  though  women  will  not  recognise  the 
fact,  come  inevitably  in  pairs." 

Apparently  there  was  some  suggestion  in  his  own 
words,  for  he  looked  ahead  hastily,  and  finding  himself 
closer  to  an  advancing  group  than  he  wished  to  be,  told 
Jerry  he  must  be  off,  and  turned  back  towards  the 
paddock. 

"Who  was  that,  Lesley.-'"  asked  Lady  Arbuthnot, 
who,  with  her  husband,  formed  the  centre  of  that  little 
knot  of  advancing  notables.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman, 
beautifully  dressed,  and  with  the  beautiful  manners 
which  a  perfectly  calm  consciousness  of  beauty  always 
gives  to  a  woman.  Her  soft  voice  softened  still  more 
as  she  spoke  to  her  child's  governess ;   so  there  was 


THE    TOTAUSATOR  / 

small  wonder  that  the  latter's  face,  as  she  replied,  told 
yet  one  more  tale  of  modern  girlhood  —  the  tale  of  one 
woman's  blind  hero-worship  of  another. 

"  A  race  steward.  Jerry  took  a  violent  fancy  to 
him,  and  I  didn't !  But  he  said  he  knew  you  —  a  Mr. 
Raymond  —  " 

A  faint  echo  of  the  name  was  checked  on  Grace 
Arbuthnot's  lips  by  a  greeting  to  a  new  arrival,  which, 
when  she  returned  to  the  subject,  lent  them  the  continu- 
ance of  a  set  smile  of  welcome. 

"  Yes !  I  knew  him  very  well  years  ago.  I  shall  be 
glad  to  meet  him  again."  The  faint  unreality  which 
previous  rehearsal  gives,  even  to  truth,  was  in  her  voice. 

"  He's  up  in  this  wace,"  quoted  Jerry  sagely,  "  or  he'd 
have  come,  for  he  said  you  was  orful  nice.  Oh,  mum ! 
do  be  quick,  or  we  shan't  see  him  win." 

"Win.?  How  do  you  know  he's  going  to  win,  sonnie.''" 
asked  Grace  Arbuthnot ;  and  there  was  no  unreality  in 
her  voice  now,  only  a  slightly  troubled  curiosity. 

"'Cos  he  will,"  answered  the  child  in  childish  fashion; 
whereat  his  mother  flushed  faintly,  but  smiled  also. 

Jerry  was  a  good  prophet.  Five  minutes  after,  he 
was  dancing  on  his  chair,  as  crimson  and  gold  came  in 
first.  "Oh!  did  you  see,  mum.?"  he  cried,  "he  was 
quite  quite  first." 

Lady  Arbuthnot  held  out  her  hand  to  steady  the 
child,  and  her  voice  seemed  to  need  support  also.  "  Of 
course  I  saw,  dear;  and  I  am  glad." 

"  So's  every  one.  Lady  Arbuthnot,"  said  young  Nevill 
Lloyd — ^  captain  by  virtue  of  his  A.D.C.-ship  —  who 
stood  behind  her.     "  Raymond  is  our  most  popular  win." 

It  seemed  so  by  the  cheer  which  rose  as  the  winners 
went  by. 

"  I  suppose  he  has  won  a  lot  of  money,"  sniffed 
Lesley,  noting  the  rider's  pleased  face. 

"Not  a  penny.  Miss  Drummond ! "  protested  the 
young  fellow.  "  Raymond  is  only  on  the  saddle  when 
he  rides  another  chap's  horse,  as  he's  doing  to-day; 
and  it  is  safer,  you  know." 


8  VOICES  IX  THE  NIGHT 

"  I  do  not  know,  Captain  Lloyd,"  she  retorted  loftily. 
"  I  know  nothing  about  horse-racing.     IV/ij'  is  it  safer .''  " 

He  coughed  uneasily.  "  Ah  !  I  thought  you  would 
know,  you  know,  and  it's  a  bit  hard  to  explain.  You  see, 
Indian  racing  is  sometimes  a  trifle  odd  —  considering,  I 
mean,  that  we  are  all  gentlemen — or  supposed  to  be  so. 
But  Raymond,"  here  he  brightened  up,  "is  always  a 
straight  win.     That's  why  Lucre  and  his  crew  —  " 

He  stopped  short,  as  one  of  a  group  of  men,  amongst 
whom  Mr.  Lucanaster  showed  conspicuous  by  his  red 
tie,  paused  in  the  general  exodus  to  answer  a  bystander's 
question. 

"  Luck .''  How  the  deuce  is  any  one  to  have  luck 
when  you  can't  get  a  fair  bet  placed  .-*  Even  the  Devil's 
Own  didn't  get  on  with  His  Royal  Highness." 

Mr.  Lucanaster  acknowledged  another  of  his  nick- 
names by  a  lavish  smile.  "  There  is  faith  as  mustard 
in  Raymond  among  our  nigger  friends,"  he  said,  with 
the  eccentricity  of  accent  and  idiom  which,  following 
him  into  every  language  he  knew,  made  his  nationality 
an  insoluble  problem.  He  glanced  back  as  he  spoke 
towards  a  cluster  of  native  gentlemen  who,  following  a 
lead  as  ever,  were  also  making  their  way  from  the 
stand.  The  similarity  of  their  oval  yellow  faces,  their 
thin  curves  of  moustache  trained  to  a  fine  sweep  above 
the  full  betel-stained  lips,  proclaimed  them  of  the  same 
family ;  but  Lesley  singled  out  the  Rightful  Heir  by  his 
cloth-of-gold  coatee,  and  by  something  which,  rather  to 
her  own  surprise,  thrilled  her  unexpectedly  —  a  green 
gleam  of  sovereignty  on  the  small  supple  hand  raised 
in  a  salaam  of  servitude  as  its  owner  passed  the  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor and  his  party. 

"  I'm  always  glad,"  continued  Nevill  Lloyd  virtuously, 
"  when  Lucre  and  his  crew  are  hit.  They  get  betting 
with  the  Nawabs  and  offering  'em  drinks.  Shocking 
bad  form  —  by  the  way,  Miss  Drummond,  come  to  our 
tent  and  have  a  peach-brandy." 

Lesley,  v/ith  another  trait  of  the  modern  girl  —  her 
toleration  of  the  male  sex  up  to  the  age  of  twenty-five 


THE    TOTALISATOR  9 

—  laughed  good-humouredly.  "It  isn't  bad  form  with 
a  lady,  apparently,  for  that's  the  fifth  peach-brandy  I've 
been  offered  in  half  an  hour !  " 

"  Well!  aren't  there  five  tents  ?  And  you  haven't  been 
to  ours,"  argued  the  lad  quite  gravely.  "  Do  come  !  It 
needn't  be  a  peach-brandy,  you  know.  Have  tea,  or  a 
chocolate  caramel,  just  to  show  there  isn't  any  ill- 
feeling." 

She  smiled  in  sisterly  fashion  at  his  kindly,  clean- 
looking  young  face,  and  —  Jerry  having  gone  with  his 
father  —  passed  with  it  into  that  marvellous  golden  glory 
of  Indian  sunshine  which  still  struck  her  Western  eyes 
as  the  most  noticeable  factor  in  her  Eastern  environ- 
ment. The  rest,  barring  the  native  costumes,  was  hope- 
lessly Western,  she  told  herself,  as  she  stood  listening 
to  the  scraps  of  talk  around,  while  Nevill  Lloyd  strug- 
gled for  her  cup  of  tea.  Polo  talk,  polite  talk,  political 
talk ;  then  something  she  could  not  classify  as  two 
natives  drifted  by  with  an  air  of  aloofness. 

As  they  did  so  a  plaintive  woman's  voice  rose  close  to 
her.  "  I  shall  send  baby  home,  as  we've  been  transferred 
to  Cawnpore." 

"Isn't  she  rather  young.-' "  said  some  one  in  answer. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that !"  replied  the  first  voice.  "  I  mean 
that  I  couldn't  take  a  child  to  Cawnpore.  I  should 
always  be  thinking  of  the  well !  " 

A/zuaj'S  t J  linking  of  the  ivell ! 

The  words  brought  home  to  Lesley  Drummond  in  an 
instant  —  a  never-to-be-forgotten  instant  —  that  sonie- 
tJiing  which  so  often  chills  the  golden  glory  of  the 
Eastern  sunshine,  that  vision  of  the  sentinel  of  memory 
which,  for  both  races,  bars  the  door  of  reconciUation 
that  might  otherwise  stand  open  for  comradeship. 

She  had  read  books  on  that  past  tragedy,  she  had  told 
herself  that  it  ivas  past,  that  it  should  be  forgotten  ;  and 
now  — 

"  Drink  your  tea  sharp ! "  said  Nevill  Lloyd,  with 
kindly  familiarity,  "  or  you'll  be  getting  ague.  That's 
the  worst  of  this  beastly  hole.     It's  always  in  extremes. 


lO  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

Hot  as  blazes  one  moment,  chill  as  charity — "  He 
paused,  for  the  iron  hand  beneath  the  parti-coloured 
velvet  and  brocade  glove  of  India  was  resolved  to  have 
the  girl  in  its  grip  at  once,  and  a  rattHng  thud,  followed 
by  a  dull  reverberation,  rose  from  the  near  distance, 
making  more  than  one  in  the  chattering  crowd  pause 
also,  until  the  sound  came  again,  when  the  pause  ended 
cheerfully  in  fresh  chatter. 

"  It's  a  funeral,"  explained  Nevill  Lloyd  in  answer  to 
Lesley's  look.  "  The  cemetery  is  close  to  the  course, 
and  enteric  is  shocking  bad  in  barracks  just  now. 
Young  Summers  of  ours  is  down  with  it,  too.  Awful 
ill,  poor  chap  —  couldn't  be  worse,  I'm  afraid."  A  lady, 
passing,  turned  to  listen,  and,  as  she  went  on,  said  to 
her  companion  in  a  whisper,  "  I  do  hope  they  won't 
have  to  put  off  the  ball  to-night  —  I've  got  such  a 
jolly  new  dress  from  Paris  for  it." 

Another  vision  came  to  Lesley,  the  vision  of  a  dead 
lad  and  a  Paris  dress. 

"Come  for  a  turn  —  you're  positively  shivering,"  said 
Captain  Lloyd  concernedly. 

They  had  barely  escaped  from  the  crush,  however, 
when  Sir  George  Arbuthnot  appeared  in  the  important 
fuss  of  new  authority.  A  cipher  telegram  had  come  from 
England,  he  must  return  to  Government  House  at  once, 
if  Captain  Lloyd  would  kindly  order  the  carriage. 

"  It's  an  orful  nuisance.  Miss  Dwummond,"  commented 
Jerry,  tucking  his  hand  into  hers  after  his  fashion  with 
every  one  he  liked,  "  for  dad  and  I  was  going  to  put 
five  whole  wupees  on  the  blackboard  thing  for  the  Cup 
wace.  And  now  he  can't,  of  course.  But  I  can.  Can't 
I,  dad .''  "  he  added,  artfully  appealing  to  a  weak  point 
in  his  parent,  "for  you  pwomised,  didn't  you.''" 

Now  the  keeping  of  promises  had  always  been  a 
prop  to  Sir  George's  somewhat  irresolute  mind,  so  he 
promptly  gave  Jerry  the  five  rupees,  and,  with  a  sug- 
gestion that  Miss  Drummond  would  help  him  to  get 
the  ticket,  bustled  off,  leaving  the  latter  no  time  for 
remonstrance. 


THE    TOTALISATOR  11 

She  stood  looking  at  the  pieces  of  silver  which  were 
to  betray  her  principles  resentfully,  then  said  with  chill 
dignity  — 

"  We  had  better  take  the  ticket  at  once,  I  suppose,  if 
it  has  got  to  be  taken.     Come,  Gerald  !  " 

But  Jerry's  face  was  the  face  of  Jerry  when  he 
forgot  his  hymn,  and  his  hands,  holding  the  five  rupees, 
went  behind  his  back  to  match  his  consciousness  of 
error. 

"I'm  afwaid  I  don't  know,  please,"  he  began. 

"Don't  know  what?     Speak  up  —  don't  be  stupid!" 

The  flaming  flag  which  always  heralded  the  child's 
confessions  of  ignorance  flew  to  his  face ;  but,  after  his 
habit,  he  looked  his  inquisitor  full  in  the  eyes. 

"  What,  please,  a  wankest  outsider  is." 

Lesley  hid  her  smile  deftly ;  she  had  ample  practice 
in  the  art  with  her  pupil.  "And  /  don't  know  which  is 
the  rankest  outsider,  so  we  must  take  it  on  chance,"  she 
replied  tartly. 

The  little  laddie's  face  fell,  but  he  stood  firm.  "  Please, 
I'd  ivatJier\.2^Q  it  on  the  —  the  other  ;  for  Mr.  Waymond 
knows  lots  about  betting  and  you  don't  know  nothing." 

"  I'm  glad  I  don't !  "  she  retorted,  feeling  quite  nettled, 
for  Jerry's  obstinate  adherence  to  his  ideal  was  not  to 
be  set  aside  with  a  high  hand.  "  And  what  is  more,  I 
don't  wish  to ;  so  if  you're  not  satisfied,  we  needn't  take 
the  ticket  at  all !  "  So  far  she  got  almost  spitefully, 
then  something  smote  the  womanhood  and  motherhood 
in  her.  "  Or,"  she  went  on,  "  suppose  we  take  one  on 
Kingscraft  —  every  one  says  he  is  sure  to  win." 

The  boy's  face  was  a  study  of  pitying  contempt. 
"  Kingscwaft !  "  he  echoed.  "Why,  he's  the  favourite, 
and  I'm  not  going  to  f oiler  a  lead  —  /'m  going  to  collar 
the  lot  \ " 

A  sudden  mist  came  to  the  girl's  eyes ;  and  through 
it  she  seemed  to  see  the  sturdy  little  soul  enshrined  in 
the  sturdy  little  body.  She  held  out  her  hand  and  said 
simply,  "Come,  there's  Mr.  Raymond  —  he'll  know." 

"  The  rankest  outsider  .-*  "  echoed  Jack  Raymond,  quite 


12  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

gravely.  "Let's  have  a  look  at  the  card,  Jerry."  Then, 
as  he  stooped  over  the  child,  he  added,  "  Shall  I  read 
out  the  names,  or  can  you  .''  " 

The  confessional  scarlet  flew  to  the  little  lad's  very 
ears  this  time.  "Only  some,  I'm  'fvvaid.  That  one's 
Kitten.  An'  I  know  that  other  one  —  least  one  end  of 
it  I  do,  'cos  it's  Miss  Dwummond's  name." 

"  Which  .^  Bonnie  Lesley.-'"  asked  Jack  Raymond, 
and  the  scarlet  flag  flew  to  another  face. 

"Only  the  other  end  of  it,  please,"  corrected  Jerry; 
whereat  one  flush  vanished  in  two  laughs. 

"  My  name  doesn't  matter,  dear ;  read  the  next," 
began  Lesley,  when  Jack  Raymond  interrupted  her. 

"  Excuse  me,  we  gamblers  believe  in  omens.  —  H'm  ! 
country-bred  mare  —  undersized  —  maiden  —  Of  course 
I  remember !  a  post  entry,  railed  down  this  morning  — 
owner  up  —  that  looks  good  —  white  and  green  sleeves 
• — better  —  the  fellow  knows  his  border  ballads.  Bon- 
nie Lesley,  it  is,  my  boy,  for  the  luck  — "  "  Of  the 
name,"  trembled  on  his  tongue,  but  the  immaculate 
collar  and  cuffs  made  him  alter  the  phrase  to  "the 
thing." 

The  next  instant  he  and  Jerry  were  elbowing  their 
way  to  the  totalisator,  Lesley  waiting  for  them  out  of 
the  crush,  and  watching  fresh  white  strokes  come  as 
fast  as  they  could  to  number  two  on  the  blackboard. 
That,  she  thought,  must  be  the  favourite's  number ; 
while  poor  Bonnie  Lesley,  the  rankest  outsider,  was 
probably  thirteen,  with  but  one  white  stroke. 

She  turned  to  the  bookmaker's  booths  to  see  if  she 
could  verify  her  guess  by  their  lists,  but  all  save  one, 
round  which  a  few  determined  old  stagers  were  loung- 
ing, had  already  closed.  However,  she  saw  what  she 
wanted  there  —  Kingscraft,  No.  2,  Bonnie  Lesley, 
No.  13! 

When  she  turned  back  again,  the  little  and  the  big 
covert  coats  had  disappeared  in  the  crowd ;  indeed,  she 
was  beginning  to  wonder  what  had  kept  them  so  long, 
when  Jack  Raymond's  voice  called  her  from  behind. 


THE    TOTALISATOR  1 3 

"This  way,  Miss  Drummond,  everything's  full  up 
this  side,  but  I'll  take  you  across  to  the  other." 

Jerry,  leaning  over  the  railings  below  the  judge's 
stand,  beamed  with  delight,  but  Lesley,  finding  Mr. 
Lucanaster  and  the  Rightful  Heir  next  her,  felt  herself 
mixed  up  with  the  extreme  racing  set  and  their  nefarious 
practices.  So  she  glared  at  her  guide  resentfully,  though 
he  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  race-glass  to  notice  it. 

"Just  in  time,"  he  said,  looking  round  with  a  cheerful 
smile.  "  Now,  Jerry,  my  man  !  steady  to  win,  or  lose  — 
that's  the  game  !  " 

He  followed  his  own  advice,  anyhow,  and  Lesley, 
watching  his  hands,  felt  instinctively  that  the  man  must 
be  a  first-class  rifle  shot.  But  Jerry  followed  the  advice 
also,  though,  with  a  wonder  as  to  whether  the  strain 
was  good  or  bad  for  the  child,  she  noticed  his  fingers 
clenched  white  on  the  white  railings  in  his  effort  to  be 
calm. 

"They're  off!" 

The  familiar  stir  of  relief  ran  through  the  crowd. 

Then  came  the  familiar  silence,  while  every  eye  was 
riveted  on  the  confused  onward  sweep  over  the  curved 
tan  —  that  silent  half-seen  sweep,  which,  for  all  its  dim- 
ness, its  silence  to  the  outward  ear  and  eye,  holds  in  it 
from  the  first,  a  sob,  a  strain  of  fiercest  effort  for  the 
inward  sight  and  hearing. 

So,  at  the  curve,  the  trail  of  horses  clustered,  spread 
out  again,  settled  for  the  straight  run  home. 

"  Bonnie  Lesley's  had  it  in  her  pocket  from  start  to 
finish,  Jerry,"  said  Jack  Raymond,  suddenly  lowering 
his  glasses.  "By  Jove!  I  wish  Fd — "  He  broke  off 
and  raised  the  glasses  again. 

But  by  this  time  others  had  seen  that  the  little  brown 
mare  was  coming  home  to  her  stables  cheerfully,  and 
a  blank,  half-irritated  surprise  began  to  leaven  the 
suspense. 

Then  a  voice — Mr.  Lucanaster's  —  said,  "What  a  rot- 
ten race !  " 

It  was,  to  many ;  yet  as  the  little  mare  neared  the 


14  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

spectators  there  was  something  in  the  bronze  gleam  of 
her  straining  muscle,  something  in  the  deer-like  bound 
of  her  forward  sweep,  something  in  the  eager  head  with 
its  full  anxious  eye,  outstretched  as  if  to  pass  the  post 
a  second  sooner,  something  in  the  slack  swing  of  a  pair 
of  green  sleeves  telling  of  a  win,  hands  down,  which 
made  every  sportsman  present  forget  personal  disap- 
pointment in  a  surge  of  admiration  for  the  game  httle 
beast. 

"  By  Jove  !  Raymond  ! "  said  one  of  the  judges  as  he 
passed  out.  "What  a  flyer!  I'd  give  something  to 
own  her !  " 

"  I'd  give  something  to  have  known  her,"  corrected 
another.  "  Twenty  to  one  !  Ye  Gods  !  What  a  chance 
for  my  widow  and  orphans ! " 

"  Who  gave  j'^w  the  tip.  Jack  .'*  "  asked  an  envious  voice. 

"What  tip.''"  replied  Jack  Raymond  imperturbably. 

"Oh!  don't  fizzle  —  I  saw  you — just  at  the  last  — 
you  must  have  about  broken  the  —  " 

"  Totalisators  don't  break,  my  dear  fellow,"  interrupted 
Jack.  "  Now,  Jerry,  if  Miss  Drummond  is  ready,  we 
can  go  and  claim  your  winnings." 

She  made  no  answer  till  the  comparative  solitude  of 
re-crossing  the  course  was  reached ;  then  she  turned  to 
him  and  said  in  a  voice  to  match  his  own  — 

"  And  your  winnings  also." 

Their  eyes  met,  and  he  took  his  cue  once  more  from 
what  he  saw.  "  I'll  get  the  in  after.  It  is  a  good  lot,  for 
I  backed  the  little  mare  properly  because  she  had  your 
name.  Only  depreciated  rupees  though  !  Jerry !  can 
you  do  sums  yet }  What  is  five  thousand  rupees  at  one 
shilling  and  three  pence  farthing  ?  That,  I  think,  is  to- 
day's quotation,  is  it  not.  Miss  Drummond  .''  " 

His  reflected  defiance  made  the  original  stronger. 
"  Tell  Mr.  Raymond,  Jerry,  that  you  haven't  yet  begun 
his  system  of  compound  multiplication,  and,  as  I  hope 
you  never  will,  he  had  better  drop  the  subject." 

She  had  not  looked  at  the  straight  line  of  those  bushy 
fair  eyebrows,  or  she  might  have  realised  the  futility  of 


THE    rOTALISATOR  I  5 

high-handedness ;  but  she  did  reahse  it,  with  a  certain 
respect,  from  the  first  words  he  spoke. 

"You  have  no  right  to  object,"  he  said  coolly.  "The 
coincidence  of  name  was  not  your  doing — nor  mine! 
Nor  are  you  responsible  for  the  mare's  win.  Therefore, 
since  neither  Jerry  nor  I  consider  ourselves  in  your  debt 
for  our  ill-gotten  gains,  we  leave  you  out  of  the  question, 
and  for  the  life  of  me  I  can't  see  why  you  should  insist 
on  being  in  it  when  you  disUke  it." 

His  sledge-hammer  common  sense  left  her  gasping, 
and  ere  she  found  words  he  had  reverted  to  negligent 
banter.  "  But,  of  course,  if  you  feel  guilty,  I'll  put  the 
rupees  into  the  poor-box  —  that  is  always  the  refuge  of 
the  conscience-stricken  !  I  can  afford  it  easily,  for  I've  had 
a  regular  run  of  luck  to-day.  So  let  it  be  peace  and  charity 
with  this  man  !  Now,  Jerry !  for  the  rupees,  and  after 
your  pockets  are  stuffed,  I'll  take  you  to  your  mother 
and  explain." 

Lesley,  feeling  limp,  admitted  to  herself  that  the  sug- 
gestion was  thoughtful.  She  also  yielded  the  point  of 
manners  as  she  watched  him  standing  before  Lady 
Arbuthnot  with  Jerry's  hand,  as  ever,  tucked  confid- 
ingly into  a  bigger  one ;  and  yet  Grace  Arbuthnot  was 
one  of  those  women  who,  as  a  rule,  make  men  look  rough. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  begin  by  bringing  you  a  bad  boy,"  he 
said,  evading  her  set  welcome  rather  abruptly,  "  but  Miss 
Drummond  will  tell  you  how  demoralising  I  am,  so  you 
must  forgive  the  young  sinner  for  the  sake  of  the  old 
one." 

The  words  held  no  intent,  and  yet  as  Grace  Arbuthnot 
stood  listening  and  looking  at  those  two  —  the  man  and 
the  child  hand  in  hand  —  the  faint  shrinking  which  tells 
of  a  sudden  enhghtenment,  bodily  or  spiritually,  came  to 
her  eyes.  "  You  can  hardly  be  held  responsible,  Mr. 
Raymond,"  she  said  slowly,  when  the  tale  was  done.  "  It 
is  Sir  George's  fault,  and  I  will  tell  him  — "  Then,  as  if 
to  escape  from  the  situation,  she  turned  to  Lesley —  "  By 
the  way,  have  you  seen  him  lately  ?  Gone  home,  did 
you  say  !     Why  .-' " 


1 6  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

The  reply  seemed  to  take  her  from  the  present  and 
the  past  also,  so  that  her  manner  had  all  the  elaborate 
graciousness  she  accorded  to  mere  acquaintances  as  she 
said,  "  Then  I  will  follow  his  example,  and  say  good- 
bye, Mr.  Raymond.  These  English  telegrams  are  so 
interesting,  aren't  they  .-*  Especially  now  the  general  elec- 
tion is  on  ;  for  it  means  so  much  to  India,  doesn't  it  .■' " 

"  Possibly,"  he  replied  coolly,  "but  it  means  very  little 
to  me.  Lady  Arbuthnot.     I  am  no  politician  nowadays." 

Lesley  Drummond,  as,  driving  away,  she  watched  the 
haggard  face  pass  under  the  big  blackboard  with  its 
white  sums  which  rose  from  the  motley  crowd  to  show 
clear  against  the  dusty  levels  of  India,  wondered  once 
more  if  his  tone  meant  contempt  or  envy. 

Grace  Arbuthnot,  however,  did  not  notice  the  tone  at 
all.  She  was  absorbed  in  something  else,  and  as  soon 
as  they  reached  Government  House,  went  straight  to  her 
husband's  writing  room. 

After  ten  minutes  she  was  still  standing  where  she  had 
paused  beside  him,  and  was  drawing  her  dainty  pale 
gloves  through  her  hands  impatiently  as  she  stared  at  the 
telegram  Sir  George  had  shown  her.  For  he  trusted  her 
absolutely  in  such  matters ;  and  in  so  doing  showed  his 
sense.  She  came,  to  begin  with,  of  an  Anglo-Indian 
family  which  had  written  its  narne  large  on  the  annals 
of  Empire.  An  only  daughter,  she  had  kept  house  for 
her  father,  the  Lieutenant-Governor  of  his  time,  and  so 
from  her  earliest  girlhood  had  listened  to  the  talk  of  the 
ablest  men  in  India,  and  become  familiar  with  the  prob- 
lems of  its  government.  Then,  of  herself,  he  knew  her 
to  be  as  capable  of  giving  a  sound  opinion  as  he  was ; 
knew^that  no  one  from  the  Himalaya  to  Cape  Cormorin 
took  a  keener  interest  than  she  did  in  the  welfare  of  the 
people. 

"  Yes  !  I,  too,  thought  they  might  perhaps  withdraw 
it,  but  still  it  is  mean,  inexpressibly  mean !  "  she  said  at 
last. 

Her  voice  was  loud  and  firm,  and  Sir  George  glanced 
uneasily  at  the  door  of  his  secretary's  room ;   for  the 


THE    TOTALISATOR  1 7 

fear  of  a  certain  proverb  about  grey  mares  lingered  with 
him.     It  dies  hard  in  Indian  bureaucracy. 

"  Horribly  mean,"  she  went  on,  "  for  it  does  not  lessen 
your  responsibility  ;  or  alter  the  position,  so  far  as  you're 
concerned." 

Sir  George  took  up  his  pen  a  trifle  irritably,  a  sign 
that  "he  was  beginning  to  weary  of  the  discussion. 
"  Pardon  me,  I  think  it  does.  So  long  as  these  secret 
instructions  were  in  my  confidential  box  I  was  bound, 
in  any  crisis,  to  follow  them  ;  but  now  they  are  de- 
stroyed— "  He  paused  at  her  look,  pointed  to  a  pile 
of  grey  ashes  in  the  fireplace,  and  went  on  heartily  — 
"  Upon  my  soul,  it's  a  relief  !  The  contents  can't  leak 
out  now; and  I've  been  awfully  nervous  about  that  ever 
since  Ewebank  took  to  asking  questions  about  a  secret 
plan  of  campaign  in  the  House.  Some  one  got  a  hint  of 
it  somehow ;  and,  as  you  know,  that  pestilent  paper 
here,  the  Voice  of  India,  has  been  on  the  bad-faith 
tack.  And  I  can't  imagine  anything  more  disastrous, 
just  at  present,  when  the  city  is  seething  about  the 
plague  and  the  withdrawal  of  municipal  powers,  than 
that  this  policy  —  which,  frankly,  subverts  all  our  profes- 
sions—  should  be  got  at.  Even  at  home  it  would  be 
ruination  during  the  elections  ;  a  regular  party  cry." 

"And  yet,"  said  Lady  Arbuthnot  with  a  fine  scorn, 
"every  sane  man  knows  we  can't  proclaim  everything 
from  the  housetops  in  India;  knows  we  must  have 
secret  orders.  And,  paper  or  no  paper,  we  have  them 
still !     If  there  is  a  row.  Government  will  expect  you  —  " 

A  sudden  obstinacy  came  to  her  husband's  face.  "  I 
should  telegraph  home  for  orders." 

Her  hands  closed  tighter ;  she  frowned.  "  Njo,  you 
wouldn't,  George ;  everything  might  depend  on  accept- 
ing the  responsibility  of  immediate  action  — you  —  " 

He  drew  his  chair  close  to  the  table  and  dipped  his 
pen  in  the  ink ;  sign  that  he  meant  to  hear  no  more. 

"  I  should  do  what  I  thought  best,  of  course ;  but  I 
should  also  be  more  cautious  to  avoid  doing"  —  he 
changed  his  phrase  —  "  to  avoid  receiving  a  slap  in  the 


1 8  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

face.  Anyhow,  I'm  not  exactly  sorry  the  instructions 
have  been  withdrawn.  Even  delay  in  action  seems  to 
me  to  involve  less  risk  —  of  permanent  injury,  I  mean 
—  than  the  upset  there  would  infallibly  be  if  our  inten- 
tion leaked  out  before  the  event." 

She  paused  at  the  door  with  a  look  of  tolerant  affec- 
tion. "  But  why  should  it  have  leaked  out .''  Besides, 
it  did  strengthen  your  hands  enormously  —  that  is  why 
I  got  father  to  speak  to  the  Council  —  that  is  why  I  was 
so  glad  when  he  succeeded.  And  he  was  glad  too  —  he 
knows  the  advantage  of  having  it  in  black  and  white." 

She  said  the  last  words,  half  to  herself,  as  she  went 
slowly  up  the  wide  shallow  stairs,  so  un-English,  so  still 
more  un-Indian,  which  led  to  the  upper  story  of  Gov- 
ernment House. 

She  was  thinking,  as  she  spoke,  of  her  father's  letter, 
in  which  he  had  told  her  of  his  success,  and  given  her 
an  outline  of  what  the  demi-official  notification  to  follow 
would  be.  That  letter  was  still  in  her  jewel-box  up- 
stairs, where  she  had  placed  it  as  a  sort  of  hostage 
against  the  more  definite  letter  to  come.  And  suddenly 
the  temptation  not  to  destroy  that  /r/<fz>  of  poUcy  came 
to  her.  Supposing  she  kept  it  just  to  show  George  — 
whose  disinclination  to  accept  responsibility  she  recog- 
nised as  a  source  of  danger  —  that,  if  the  worst  came  to 
the  worst,  he  could  still  prove  a  private  knowledge  in 
black  and  white  of  what  had  been  the  Government  pol- 
icy.    The  letter  was  very  definite,  very  explicit. 

The  thought  came  to  her  as  she  passed  into  her  room, 
and  as  she  did  so,  she  saw  the  reflection  of  her  English 
maid's  face  in  the  looking-glass,  as  she  stood  rummaging 
hastily  in  the  dressing-table  drawers. 

"What  is  it,  Needham.?" 

The  maid  turned,  with  a  cry  of  mingled  relief  and 
alarm.  "  Oh,  milady  !  I'm  so  glad  you're  back.  I  can't 
find  the  little  jewel-box  nowhere,  —  it  'adn't  so  much  in  it, 
milady,  for  I'd  took  out  the  diamonds  last  night  —  that 
was  when  I  seen  it  last.  It  "ad  your  string  of  pearls, and 
ayah  says  she's  not  seen  it  either,  but  there  was  people 


THE    TOTALISATOR  1 9 

in  the  verandah  last  night,  for  Captain  Lloyd  he  threw 
boots  at  'em,  for  disturbin'  him.  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear ! 
Why  did  I  ever  come  to  Ingiar!  "  Here  Needham  dis- 
solved into  tears. 

Grace  Arbuthnot  turned  very  pale.  "  The  little  jewel- 
box,"  she  echoed.  Then  she  pulled  herself  together, 
and  said  calmly,  "  Well !  it  is  lucky  it  was  only  the  pearls. 
Go  down  and  ask  Sir  George  to  come  to  me  at  once  ;  for 
if  the  box  has  really  been  stolen,  the  sooner  the  police 
know  the  better." 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  she  was  answering  the  police 
officer's  questions  still  more  calmly. 

"  Only  a  string  of  pearls  —  large  ones  —  they  belonged 
to  my  mother,  who  got  them,  I  believe,  from  one  of  the 
late  Nawab's  wives,  and  a  few  small  trinkets  —  there  is 
a  list  of  them  —  that  was  all." 

"  A  letter  or  two,  milady,"  suggested  Needham,  who 
had  been  giving  her  evidence. 

"  Of  no  value  to  any  one  save  the  owner,"  smiled  Lady 
Arbuthnot,  and  her  husband  smiled  back  at  her,  for  he 
knew  she  kept  his  letters. 

"  Well,  it  is  lucky  it  wasn't  worse  !  "  he  said  consol- 
ingly, "it  might  have  been  the  diamonds.  And  if  I 
were  you,"  he  added  to  the  police  officer,  "  I'd  let  Mr. 
Lucanaster  know  at  once,  even  if,  as  you  say,  it's  wiser 
to  keep  the  matter  dark  for  a  day  or  two.  He  is  always 
buying  jewels,  and  even  if  the  thieves  don't  take  the 
pearls  to  him  direct,  they  might  try  and  trade  them  off 
to  the  royal  family,  and  then  Jie  is  sure  to  hear  of  it  in 
the  end  —  he  is  always  having  dealings  with  them." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  KITE-FLYERS 

"  Bring  me  more  paste,  women,  and  see  there  be  no 
lumps  in  it ;  the  last  was  fit  to  ruin  a  body's  reputation," 
said  Lateefa,  the  kite-maker,  as  he  sate  on  the  ground 
in  one  of  the  arched  nooks  which  surrounded  the  wide 
sunlit  courtyard  of  a  large  native  house.  It  had  been  a 
sort  of  city  palace  to  the  dead  dynasty,  and  was  now 
occupied  by  Jehan  Aziz  the  Rightful  Heir's  family.  It 
was  built  of  stucco,  simulating  marble ;  stucco  decayed, 
fast  crumbling  to  dust,  so  leaving  scars,  where  once 
there  had  been  ornaments. 

The  speaker  was  an  old  man,  though  his  sleek  oiled 
hair,  square-cut  in  the  royal  fashion  just  below  the  ear, 
showed  no  streak  of  grey.  On  one  side  of  him  lay 
the  raw  material  of  his  craft ;  on  the  other  a  swift-grov/- 
ing  pile  of  the  manufactured  article  ready  for  sale  in 
the  bazaar  after  his  master,  Jehan  Aziz,  prince  of  kite- 
flyers,  should  have  taken  his  choice.  That  Lateefa  him- 
self was  prince  of  kite-makers  could  be  judged  from  the 
way  in  which  he  bent  the  bamboo  slips  to  a  perfect 
curve,  and  held  them  thus  by  three  dabs  of  paste,  and  a 
sheet  of  tissue  paper.     It  was  a  miracle  of  dexterity. 

There  were  two  women  in  the  courtyard,  one  a  girl 
about  sixteen,  who  was  lounging  lazily  behind  Lateefa, 
the  other  a  woman  of  sixty,  dressed  in  ragged  dirty  gar- 
ments, who  was  spinning,,  as  for  dear  life,  an  arch  or  two 
farther  down.  After  a  pause,  during  which  she  looked 
almost  appealingly  at  the  girl,  the  latter  rose  and  limped 
towards  an  inner  court,  for  KhojeeyaKhanum  was  slightly 
lame ;  sUghtly  deformed  also,  owing  to  her  lameness. 

"  Keep  the  lumps  to  our  dinners,  Auntie  Khojee !  " 


THE  KITE-FLYERS  21 

called  the  girl  with  a  pert  titter ;  "  for  what  with  paste 
and  the  kites  it  makes,  we  good  women  have  scarce 
flour  left  to  fill  our  stomachs  !  " 

Lateefa,  after  watching  the  Hmp  disappear,  glanced 
round  at  the  girl.  She  was  a  buxom  creature,  over-de- 
veloped for  her  years,  and  over-dressed  in  the  cheap 
finery  of  Manchester  muslin  at  ?,\xpice  a  yard  and  Ger- 
man silver  earrings  at  two  annas  a  dozen. 

"  Thy  sort  of  good  woman  need  never  starve,  niece 
Sobrai,"  he  said  (for  he  was  connected  by  some  by-way 
of  blood  to  the  heirs  of  all  things  or  nothing),  "  I  have 
told  thee  that  before.  There  is  not  a  drop  of  her  blood 
in  thee,"  he  nodded  to  the  inner  door.  "  I  mean  no 
blame  ;  some  daughters  must  favour  the  father.  Indeed, 
I  marvel  ever  there  be  so  few  to  do  it  in  this  family, 
since,  God  knows,  we  men  be  debauched  enough  to  out- 
weigh the  virtue  of  the  sainted  Fatma  herself."  He 
shook  his  head  and  began  on  a  new  kite. 

"  Thou  knowest  that  better  than  I,"  retorted  Sobrai 
sharply ;  "  though  thy  memory,  Uncle  Lateef,  can 
scarce  hold  the  poor  souls  thou  hast  injured  thereby." 

His  deft  hands  left  their  work,  and  the  supple  fingers 
spread  themselves  in  emphatic  denial.  "  Not  a  one ! 
niece,  not  a  one  !  "  he  protested.  "  Lateefa  makes  kites, 
not  souls.  I  take  men  and  women  as  they  came  from 
their  Maker's  hands  —  as  I  came.  For,  see  you,  if  my 
kites  fly,  as  I  make  them  fly,  why  not  His  souls  .■'  "  —  he 
paused  for  a  thin  musical  laugh,  which  suited  his  thin 
acute  face  —  "I  say  not,"  he  went  on,  "that  thou  art 
botched  by  being  built  another  fashion,  but  that  her 
life,"  he  nodded  again  to  the  inner  or  women's  court, 
"is  not  for  such  as  thee  —  that  thou  hadst  best  appraise 
thine  own  needs  betimes." 

"Maybe  I  have  already,"  sneered  the  girl  insolently, 
"  and  without  thy  help,  pander  !  " 

He  turned  on  her  swiftly.  "  Have  a  care,  girl ! 
Have  a  care !  In  vice,  as  in  virtue,  the  old  ways 
are  safest.  So  listen  not  to  that  woman  from  canton- 
ments whom  the  Nawab  brings  hither  when  he  enter- 


22  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

tains.  Ah  !  think  not  I  have  not  seen  thee  steaHng  down 
on  the  sly  to  have  a  word  with  her." 

Sobrai  gave  a  half-abashed  titter.  "  And  to  Dilaram, 
tJiy  friend  of  the  city  also  !  Lo  !  uncle  !  What  is  there 
to  choose  between  them  or  their  trade  either  .-'  '  If  one 
comes  to  dance,  what  matters  a  veil .'' '  And  if  the 
Nawab  would  keep  his  women  old-fashioned,  why  doth 
he  bring  Miss  Leezie  to  the  house  .-'  Ah !  say  not  'tis 
only  to  this  outer  court  where  we  virtuous  need  see 
nothing  ;  '  'tis  only  the  blind  cow  which  hath  a  separate 
byre,'  and  my  sight  is  good  —  " 

"  And  thy  heart  bad,"  added  Lateefa  dispassionately, 
as  she  stood  shifting  one  foot  to  and  fro  after  the 
manner  of  dancing-girls.  "  Still,  since  God  made  thee, 
as  I  make  kites,  thou  wilt  doubtless  fly  thine  own  way  — 
if  thou  canst  find  some  one  to  hold  the  string  !  It  needs 
that  ever." 

She  began  a  retort,  but  checked  herself  as  Kh6jeeya 
reappeared  with  the  paste  in  a  green  leaf  cup. 

"  Thy  work  brings  quick  return,  Lateef,"  said  the 
old  lady,  pausing  to  look  wistfully  at  the  growing  pile 
of  kites,  "  but  my  wheel  twirls  for  two  hours  to  a  far- 
thing tune."  She  edged  closer  and  brushed  a  speck 
of  dirt  from  the  kite-maker's  board  in  wheedling  fashion, 
then  went  on,  "  Couldst  not  spare  me  something  to-day, 
Lateef,  against  the  boy's  medicine  .-'  He  needs  it  sorely, 
and  Noormahal  hath  not  had  a  cozurie  from  the  Nawab 
since  the  races.  Dost  know  what  he  lost .''  He  says 
all,  but  he  lies  often."  She  spoke  without  a  suspicion 
of  blame,  simply  as  if  the  fact  —  being  a  dispensation  of 
Providence  —  was  neither  to  be  questioned  nor  resented. 

Lateefa  laughed  airily.  "  Lose  !  "  he  echoed,  "  Jehan 
hath  naught  to  lose,  not  even  credit.  He  sets  free 
of  fate !  '  He  who  bathes  naked  has  no  clothes 
to  wring ! '  'Tis  Salig  Ram,  his  usurer,  whose  fat 
flesh  quivers  lest  his  tame  pensioner  should  die 
prematurely.  So  take  heart,  my  good  Khojee ! 
Things  cannot  grow  worse,  or,  for  that  matter, 
better,    since   Jeh^n's    affairs    are   as   a   slipped   camel 


THE   KITE-FLYERS  23 

in  the  mud.  They  can  neither  go  back  nor  for- 
ward. For,  see  you,  he  must  not  die  of  starvation,  lest 
the  pension  lapse ;  nor  must  he  live  riotous  beyond 
reason,  lest  once  more  the  pension  lapse  through  his 
death  by  surfeit.  Would  to  God  I  had  such  leading- 
strings  to  comfortable,  clean  living  myself  !  but  none 
cares  for  Lateefa's  soul  or  body.  So  fret  not,  Khojee, 
concerning  Jehan.  And  as  for  the  boy,  canst  not 
take  the  child  to  the  '  Duff'rin  Hospitar'l '  and  get 
physic  free  .-*     Plenty  women  go  thither,  they  tell  me." 

"Ay  !  of  sorts  ;  but  not  we,"  replied  the  old  lady. 

She  drew  her  ragged  veil  tighter,  but  Sobrai  tittered. 

"  Hark  to  her  gentility  !  Yet  she  goes  to  the  pawn- 
shop. Uncle  Lateef,  and  does  the  house-marketing  to 
boot  —  tut!  auntie,  wouldst  pretend  it  is  not  so.''  As 
if  our  neighbours  did  not  know  us  all  but  servantless ! 
as  if  they  could  not  tell  worshipful  Khojeeya  Khanum, 
king's  daughter,  below  the  domino,  by  the  hmp !  " 

The  old  worn  face  —  it  was  one  of  those  Provi- 
dence meant  for  beauty,  then  marred  —  turned  in  depre- 
cating apology  to  Lateefa,  as  representative  of  outraged 
propriety  and  proprietor. 

"Some  one  must,  mecan^  she  said  meekly,  "for 
Ameenan  hath  but  two  hands  and  two  feet ;  yet  another 
set  would  mean  another  mouth  to  feed.  Besides,  I 
grow  so  old,  brother ;  there  is  no  fear."  The  faint 
forlornness  and  regret  of  the  excuse  made  Lateefa's 
sharp  face  soften. 

"  Heed  not  what  Sobrai  says,  sister,"  he  replied. 
"  Lo !  thy  virtue  would  stand  stiff  in  a  brothel ;  hers 
grows  giddy  looking  over  a  wall ;  so  she  doth  not  under- 
stand—  " 

"  Not  understand  !  "  retorted  the  girl  shrilly.  "  May- 
hap I  understand  too  much  for  old  folk  and  old  ways. 
I  hold  not  with  lick-spittling  men-folk  who  wander 
*  Englis  fassen '  yet  would  keep  us  in  the  old  path  — 
who  say,  as  their  grand-dads  did,  that  '  cattle  and  women 
must  rub  along  \\\  their  tethers,'  but  claim  a  long  string 
to  their  own  kites." 


24  VOICES  IN   THE   NIGHT 

Lateefa  interrupted  the  tirade  with  a  chuckle.  "  Since 
they  are  able  to  hold  it !  But  as  I  told  thee,  'tis  the 
mud  in  the  gutter  for  the  gayest  of  gay  petticoats"  — 
he  laid  his  hand  on  the  growing  pile  of  kites  —  "if  they 
try  to  soar  alone." 

"  I  will  not  ask  thee  to  hold  mine,  anyway,"  she 
retorted,  flouncing  off  in  a  meditated  whirlwind.  For 
Lateefa  was  right.  Sobrai  was  not  born  of  those  who 
are  patient  in  well  doing.  Even  without  experience, 
her  manners  were  those  of  a  different  model. 

Aunt  Khojee  looked  after  her  fearfully,  then  once 
more  turned  to  representative  man  in  apology.  "  Here 
are  ill  words,  nieea/i,"  she  began  tremulously,  "yet  God 
knows  how  hard  it  is  to  keep  girls  silent  when  the 
world  about  them  hath  grown  so  noisy.  In  the  old 
days  neighbours  were  of  one's  own  sort ;  now,  if  they  be 
ready  to  pay  full  rent,  that  is  enough.  I  say  naught 
against  ours — though,  good  or  bad,  it  was  ill  done  of 
Alidad,  our  cousin,  to  let  the  house  his  fathers  died  in. 
Still,  they  be  decent  folk  enough,  though  the  son  is  a 
balister}  But,  see  you,  since  he  returned  from  Eng- 
land he  hath  taken  his  wife  to  live  as  a  viem  beyond  the 
city.  And  she  hath  set  his  sisters  agog  to  learn,  as  she 
learns,  of  a  miss  from  the  misseii.  So  what  with  all 
this  talk,  and  the  railway  whistle  so  close,  and  Sobrai 
gossiping  as  girls  will  over  the  partitions  —  " 

Lateefa's  thin  laugh  positively  crackled.  "  Said  I  not 
her  virtue  would  not  withstand  a  wall .-'  But  heed  her 
not,  sister.  She  is  right,  for  Sobrai !  Thou  art  right 
for  Khojeeya  Khanum.  Ye  are  both  God-bred,  God-fed. 
Except  concerning  houses  —  tJiere  thou  art  wrong,"  he 
added,  giving  the  old  lady  a  shrewd  tentative  look. 
"  Dead  folk  should  remain  in  their  graves  and  leave  the 
letting  of  houses  to  the  living.  I  deem  Alidad  wise,  for, 
as  the  old  saw  says,  '  an  empty  house  is  the  wasp's  es- 
tate.' Jehan  should  do  the  like  with  this,  if  the  Nawabin 
would  consent  to  live  elsewhere." 

1  Barrister, 


THE  KITE-FLYERS  25 

"Elsewhere?"  echoed  Khojee,  aghast.  "  Where  else 
should  Noormahal  live  but  in  her  own  house  ? " 

"  In  a  smaller  one.  Look !  saw  you  ever  such  a  wil- 
derness of  a  place  for  five  women  and  a  child.-'" 

He  swept  a  derisive  finger  round  the  wide  courtyard, 
the  terraced  arcades,  the  storied  vista  of  the  zenan- 
k/iana,  the  half- fortified  gateway  where  the  royal  pea- 
cocks still  spread  their  broken  plaster  tails.  And  as  he 
did  so  th^  flood  of  yellow  sunshine,  as  if  in  answer, 
betrayed  every  cranny  in  the  cracked  brickwork,  every 
scar  in  the  mouldering  stucco. 

"  'Tis  as  a  stone  on  the  tail  of  a  kite,  sister,"  he  went 
on,  "  a  burden  not  to  be  borne  by  frailty  that  can  scarce 
support  itself."  He  had,  as  he  spoke,  been  tying  his 
morning's  work  together  ere  taking  it  to  the  bazaar,  and 
now  he  stood  balancing  a  balloon-like  bundle,  almost  as 
big  as  himself,  upon  his  hand ;  but  he  emphasised  his 
remark  by  withdrawing  that  support,  then,  ere  the  kites 
touched  ground,  catching  the  bundle  again,  so  holding 
them  suspended.  "  It  needs  some  one  to  keep  feather- 
brains from  the  gutter,"  he  continued  gravely,  "  and 
thou,  Khojee,  art  the  only  body  in  this  house  with  sense. 
Khadjee,  thy  sister,  hath  decorum,  Sobrai  desires,  and 
Noormahal,  poor  soul,  dreams.  So  let  me  speak 
thee  soberly.     Thou  hast  heard  of  this  plague,  sister .?  " 

Khojee  cracked  all  her  fingers  wildly,  to  avert  evil, 
ere  quavering,  "Who  hath  not.''  Hath  it  come,  Lateefa  .-• 
Shall  v/e  be  all  sent  to  hospital  and  poisoned .'' " 

The  crackling  laugh  echoed  again.  "  Fools'  tales, 
woman,  fools'  tales.  Why  should  the  Hiizoors  trouble  .-' 
Have  they  not  soldiers  and  guns  wherewith  to  kill .-' " 

"  But  they  have  driven  out  the  Mimbi'djis'^-corarmt- 
tee ;  they  have  taken  possession  of  all  things.  Hafiz 
Ahmad's  wife,  who  lives  as  a  mcni,  said  so.  She  said 
her  husband —  " 

The  laugh  crackled  again.  "  Ay  !  he  is  mimber,  yet 
he  knows  which  side  of  the  wall  to  jump.     And  what 

i  Members  of  Municipal  Committee. 


26  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

be  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  the  quarrel  I  know  not; 
but,  as  thou  sayest,  the  Huzoors  have  taken  the  reins 
once  more,  for  the  plague  is  nigh.  So  they  are  med- 
dling with  God's  work,  and  finding  Jiospitarls  and  who 
knows  what.  And  Hafiz  Ahmad,  for  all  his  grievance, 
hath  recommended  his  father's — yea !  Khojee,  the  neigh- 
bouring house  —  as  Jiospitarl.  So,  see  you,  sister,  if  folk 
v.ere  wise  the  hospitar  I  might  come  to  them,  and  a  swing- 
ing rent  beside ;  since  Behari  Lai,  the  town  clerk,  told 
me  the  doctors  said  they  must  have  both  houses  or  nei- 
ther—  they  were  so  nigh.  Here,  then,  is  Noormahal's 
chance.  Let  her  claim  a  writing  for  half-rent,  since, 
having  right  of  occupancy  by  her  marriage-dowry,  Jehan 
cannot  let  without  her  consent.  That  would  stop  wheel- 
spinning  for  bare  bread,  sister." 

But  Kh6jee's  thoughts  were  not  for  herself.  "  Can 
the  Huzoors  make  us  go,"  she  quavered ;  "  can  they 
force  her.'' " 

Lateefa  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Nay  !  nay  !  but  if 
she  choose." 

"Then  is  that  the  end,"  interrupted  Khojee,  with  a 
sigh  of  relief.  "  Noormahal  will  never  choose.  She 
hath  but  two  things  left  of  kingship  —  and  it  comes 
closer  through  her  than  through  Jehan,  mind  you, 
though,  being  woman,  she  hath  no  claim  like  he  — 
two  things,  the  house  and  the  ring !  And  she  will  keep 
both  —  for  her  boy." 

Lateefa  had  his  gay  balloon  balanced  afresh  on  his 
palm. 

"If  she  can  keep  the  boy,"  he  said  sardonically; 
"but  even  kites  are  ill  to  hold  with  a  rotten  string." 
So,  balancing  his  burden  of  nothingness  from  one  hand 
to  another,  as  jugglers  play  with  a  ball,  he  passed  out 
under  the  broken  plaster  peacocks,  singing  significantly, 
in  his  high  reedy  voice,  the  dirge  of  motherhood,  which 
so  often  echoes  out  into  the  Indian  sunshine  from  behind 
closed  doors  — 

'*  O  child!  who  taught  thee  to  deceive  ? 
O  child!  who  taught  thee  thus  to  leave 


THE   KITE-FLYERS  27 

My  throning  arms?     Didst  thou  not  say 

Thou  wert  their  king  for  aye? 

So  soon  dost  thou  deceive? 

So  soon  hast  learnt  to  leave 

Thy  sonship's  crown? 

To  fling  it  dowTi. 

Thy  throne 

Is  lone. 

Ah,  me !  ah,  me  ! " 

It  fell  on  Khojeeya  Khanum's  ears,  making  her  heart 
sink  with  its  implied  warning ;  for  a  child  doomed  to 
disease,  like  little  Sa'adut,  the  heir  to  the  Heirship  of 
Nothingness,  was  but  faint  hold  on  the  soaring  honours 
of  royalty.  And  Jehan  Aziz,  his  father,  was  a  fainter 
one  still.  Rumours  had  come,  even  to  the  wide  ruined 
courtyard,  of  official  reprimands,  of  threats.  What 
wonder,  when  even  the  more  reputable  members  of  the 
royal  family  looked  askance  at  his  doings .'' 

Still  he  was  master  in  that  house,  and  as  that  was  his 
day  for  the  weekly  visit  of  ceremony  he  vouchsafed  to 
his  lawful  wife,  it  behoved  Khojee  to  prepare  for  it  after 
established  rule. 

Khadeeja  Khanum,  Khojee's  twin  sister,  had  already 
done  her  share  of  preparation.  She  had  put  on  her  best 
pink  satin  trousers  and  a  spangled  green  veil,  in  which 
she  sate  squatted  on  a  string  bed  set  in  the  women's 
court,  and  sewed  at  a  tinsel  cap  for  the  head  of  the 
house  —  that  being  the  correct  etiquette  on  such  occa- 
sions. 

And  Khadeeja  was  far  more  correct  than  Kh6jeeya. 
In  fact,  her  position  in  the  household  was  quite  differ- 
ent, seeing  that  she  had  been  betrothed  in  her  youth  to 
an  ancient  suitor  who  died  before  she  was  old  enough 
to  be  claimed,  while  no  one  had  ever  made  a  bid  for 
Khojee's  limp.  So,  while  the  latter's  few  trinkets  had 
a  trick  of  remaining  with  the  pawnbroker,  Khadjee's 
never  paid  even  a  temporary  visit  to  that  official. 

Then  her  clothes,  from  that  decorous  sitting  on  string 
beds  instead  of  breathless  spinning  in  the  dust,  remained 
so  spick  and  span,  that  Noormahal,  poor  soul!   when 


28  VOICES  LV   THE  NIGHT 

money  ran  scarce  for  the  heir's  medicine,  would  accuse 
the  general  scapegoat  of  extravagance  in  providing  them. 
On  these  occasions  Khojee  never  retorted  that  the  white 
muslin  in  which  the  Nawabin  denied  herself  was,  in  the 
end,  more  expensive.  Neither  did  she  meet  Khadjee's 
demand  for  more  tinsel  with  the  brutal  truth  that  the 
caps  were  too  old-fashioned  for  Jehan  Aziz  to  wear. 
Family  facts  of  this  sort  she  did  not  even  divulge  in 
her  prayers ;  for  Khojeeya  Khanum's  religion,  like  her 
life,  Avas  strictly  impersonal.  It  could  be  nothing  else, 
since  it  was  barely  decent  for  a  woman  to  intrude  even 
her  own  salvation  on  a  Creator  whose  attributes  were 
distinctly  masculine ! 

So,  while  Khadjee  sewed  and  Noormahal  cuddled  the 
sleeping  Sa'adut  as  she  crouched  on  another  bed,  Kho- 
jee dragged  out  the  state  carpet  —  whence  all  the  state 
and  most  of  the  carpet  had  retired  in  favour  of  bare 
string  —  set  the  cushions,  prepared  the  pipe,  the  sher- 
bet, and  the  hand  punkah,  lest  the  master  should  be 
fatigued  by  his  condescension ;  for,  to  her,  all  these 
ceremonies  were  a  sort  of  sacrament  to  any  intercourse 
between  the  sexes,  without  which  it  was  distinctly  im- 
proper, and  with  which  it  was  possible  to  receive  even 
a  scapegrace  with  benefit  to  yourself. 

Having  done  all  this,  she  crossed  to  Noormahal,  and, 
crouching  beside  the  bed,  began,  with  a  crooning  song, 
to  massage  the  long  slender  limbs  tucked  up  under  the 
long  slim  body.  For  her  niece,  though  not  half  her 
age,  was  Nawabin  —  as  such,  mistress  of  the  house. 

"  Nay,  auntie,"  remonstrated  Noormahal  in  a  deep 
full  voice ;  "  thou  also  wert  up  all  night  with  the  boy, 
and  art  as  tired  as  I." 

"  Trra !"  retorted  Khojeeya;  "old  hemp  hath  fibre, 
young  hemp  flower ;  and  'twill  freshen  thee  against  thy 
man's  coming."  The  almost  pathetic  raillery  in  the  old 
face  which  had  never  known  a  lover's  kiss  was  quite 
charming,  but  Noormahal  frowned. 

"  Better  prepare  the  child's  food,"  she  said,  shrinking 
even  from  the  touch  of  those  caressing  hands.  "  May- 
hap his  father  will  be  glad  if  he  looks  better." 


THE  KITE-FLYERS  29 

Her  voice,  low  for  her  race  and  sex,  suited  the  fine 
aquiline  face,  whose  fairness  was  enhanced  by  the 
exceeding  darkness  of  the  large  melancholy  eyes. 
These  in  their  expression  matched  the  extreme  passivity 
of  face  and  figure  —  a  passivity  which  held  no  trace  of 
supineness.  For  the  rest,  there  was  much  ignorance 
and  obstinacy  in  the  face,  but  nobility  in  both. 

She  sate,  curiously  immovable,  until  Khojee  reap- 
peared with  a  cup  of  milk.  It  was  a  Jubilee  cup,  with 
clasped  hands  of  union  upon  it,  and  a  portrait  of  the 
Queen-Empress  surrounded  by  flags  and  mottoes.  And 
Noormahal  held  it  to  the  lips  of  the  little  heir  to  Noth- 
ingness or  All  Things  with  tender  cajoleries. 

"  Wake  up,  my  heart !  Wake  !  light  of  mine  eyes  ! 
Wake  !  little  king !  "  she  murmured,  and  under  her  lav- 
ish kisses  the  boy  roused  to  smile,  first  at  her,  then  at 
the  cup,  finally  at  the  old  woman  who  knelt,  holding  his 
little  bare  feet  in  her  wrinkled  hand,  as  if  they  were  a 
gift.  He  was  a  pretty  child,  despite  the  ominous  scars 
on  the  brown  velvet  of  his  skin,  the  hoarse  pipe  in  his 
childish  treble.  A  lively  laddie  too,  and  arrogant  from 
kinglike  ignorance  of  denial. 

So  Khojee  limped  for  more  sugar,  Noormahal  wheedled 
him  into  another  sip  or  two,  Khadeeja  from  her  tinsels 
murmured  blessings,  and  even  Sobrai  (dismissed  by  the 
proprieties  from  the  court  against  the  master's  visit) 
giggled  from  a  balcony  at  Sa'adut's  insolence,  and  called 
to  her  girl-friends  over  the  wall  that  he  was  a  pea  of  the 
right  pod  and  no  mistake  ! 

Certainly  his  lordliness  was  matched  by  Jehan  Aziz 
v/hen  the  latter  stalked  in,  without  a  word  of  welcome 
for  the  three  women  who  stood  up  salaamin;^  profoundly. 
Yet  even  he  paid  court  to  the  child,  and,  yielding  to  the 
implied  command  of  outstretched  arms,  took  Sa'adut  to 
share  the  cushion  of  state  on  the  state  carpet. 

They  were  a  quaint  pair  this  father  and  son,  dressed 
alike  in  wrinkled  white  calico  tights,  velvet  vests,  flimsy 
gauze  overcoats,  and  round  tinsel  caps  set  far  back  on 
the  white  parting  of  their  sleek  hair ;  such  a  startling 


30  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

white    parting,    considering    the    brownness    of    their 
skins ! 

The  likeness  between  the  two  was,  in  a  way,  ghastly ; 
the  more  so  because  the  man's  face  bore  no  trace  of  the 
suffering  which  was  written  so  clearly  on  the  boy's. 

Noormahal,  watching  them  with  empty  arms,  noticed 
this  with  a  fierce  unreasoning  jealousy  for  her  child. 
Yet  there  was  a  deeper,  fiercer  jealousy  than  this  in 
the  big  brooding  eyes  which  took  in  every  detail  of  the 
man  who,  scented,  oiled,  was  all  too  perceptibly  attired 
for  conquest  elsewhere.  She  hated  him,  it  is  true,  but 
in  India  the  marriage-tie  is  not  a  sentiment,  it  is  a  tan- 
gible right.  And  so,  still  young,  still  comely,  Noor- 
mahal felt  none  of  the  passionate  repulsion  which  a 
Western  woman  would  have  felt.  Her  wish,  her  claim, 
was  to  force  her  husband  back  to  her  with  contumely. 
Was  he  not  hers,  to  be  the  father  of  other  heirs,  if  this 
one  found  freedom  .'* 

But  contumely  was  out  of  the  question.  Jehan  Aziz 
still  had  the  green  gleam  of  the  kingly  emerald  on  his 
finger.  That  must  first  come  back  to  her  safe  hoarding, 
as,  by  solemn  agreement,  it  always  came  after  the  rare 
occasions  —  such  as  the  race  meeting  —  when  it  had  to 
blazon  its  claims  before  the  world.  And  now  the  races 
were  over,  where  Jehan  said  he  had  lost  all.  All  the 
more  reason  the  ring  should  come  quickly.  So,  when 
Sobrai,  from  above,  challenged  Jehan's  leer  by  peeping 
and  nodding,  there  was  no  need  for  Aunt  Khojee  to 
sidle  between  the  mistress  of  the  house  and  the  flagrant 
impropriety,  like  a  hen  between  her  duckUngs  and  the 
water.  Noormahal  would  have  allowed  more  insult 
than  that  to  pass  unnoticed.  She  sate  passive,  brooding, 
wondering  when  Jehan  v/ould  begin  on  the  subject. 
And  all  around  the  group  the  still  sunshine  burdened 
the  half-ruined  courtyard  with  a  cruel  light. 

It  was  one  of  Khadccja's  pious  benedictions  with 
which  she  embroidered  truth  as  she  embroidered  her 
tinsel  caps,  which  drove  the  stillness  from  that  ele- 
mental group  of  man,  woman,  and  child,  that  Trinity  for 


THE  KITE-FLYERS  3 1 

Good  or  Evil  in  which  the  veriest  agnostic  must  be- 
lieve. 

The  sight,  she  asserted,  of  such  a  father  and  such  a 
son  filled  her  soul  with  certainty  that  a  Merciful  Crea- 
tor would  preserve  the  child  to  take  his  father's  place. 

"  And  wear  the  signet  of  his  kingly  ancestors,"  put  in 
Noormahal,  seizing  her  opportunity.  Her  challenge 
smote  the  sunshine  keen  as  a  sword  thrust ;  with  all  her 
desire  for  diplomacy  she  could  not  help  it  coming. 
Jehan  glared  at  her  furiously  for  a  second ;  but  irrita- 
tion at  a  wife  soon  passes  when,  as  in  India,  she  is  no 
tie  —  unless  she  is  beloved,  and  Noormahal  was  not. 
Besides,  the  broaching  of  the  subject  was  a  relief,  since 
it  had  to  be  broached  somehow ;  even  though  the  nego- 
tiations with  Mr.  Lucanaster  had  gone  no  further  than 
a  promise  of  first  refusal  should  the  ring  be  sold.  Not 
that  he,  Jehan,  had  as  yet  seriously  considered  sale ; 
but  even  so,  if  Salig  Ram,  the  usurer,  were  to  be  per- 
suaded to  loan  money  on  the  ring's  security,  it  must  not 
be  returned  to  Noormahal's  keeping. 

Therefore,  seeing  that  little  Sa'adut  would  be  at  once 
his  shield  and  his  weapon  in  the  fight  which  was  bound 
to  come  between  himself  and  the  passionate  woman 
whose  eyes  blazed  at  him,  he  turned  to  the  child  with  a 
laugh  and  a  caress.  "  Yea,  Sa'adut !  thou  shalt  wear 
the  ring  ;  father  will  keep  it  for  thee." 

The  answer  came  swift.  "  And  why  not  mother,  as 
heretofore  .''  "  Auntie  Khojee  sidled  again  in  depreca- 
tion of  such  a  tone  towards  the  master.  Jehan  himself 
would  have  given  his  fighting  quail  (source  of  his  only 
steady  income)  to  answer  this  woman  as  he  answered 
other  women  ;  but  he  could  not.  The  child,  the  only 
child  which  had  come  to  his  reprobate  life,  was  her 
shield,  her  weapon  also.  He  looked  at  this  tie  between 
them  almost  resentfully,  and  thrust  it  once  more  to  the 
van  of  fight. 

"  Because,  Sa'adut,  mother  hath  had  it  long  enough. 
Hath  she  not,  sonling  }    It  is  father's  turn  now,  is  it  not } " 

Sa'adut's  big  black  eyes  —  they  had  all  his  mother's 


32  VOICES  LV   THE  NIGHT 

melancholy,  with  a  childish  wistfulness  superadded  to 
their  velvet  depths  —  looked  from  the  woman's  face  to 
the  man's,  from  his  mother's  face  to  his  father's ;  and 
a  vague  perplexity,  a  still  vaguer  consciousness  of  a 
hidden  meaning,  came  to  his  childish  mind.  What  did 
they  want,  these  big  people  who  always  took  so  much 
upon  themselves  ?  Unless  lie  expressed  a  wish,  when 
theirs  had  to  give  way. 

Suddenly  he  rose  to  his  feet,  a  mite  of  mankind 
between  those  two  imperious,  undiscipHned  natures 
which  had  so  thoughtlessly  called  his  into  being.  The 
veriest  atom  of  humanity,  and  yet,  by  reason  of  its 
frailty,  its  inexperience,  more  imperious,  more  undisci- 
plined than  that  from  which  it  sprung. 

"  Give  it  to  me,  myself  !  "  came  his  hoarse  pipe  arro- 
gantly ;  "  give  it  to  Sa'adut !  He  will  keep  it  himself. 
Give  it,  I  say  !     Giv^e  it !  " 

The  claim  to  individual  life  in  a  thing  to  which  you 
have  given  life,  startled  even  this  father  and  mother. 
They  paused,  uncertain. 

So  in  a  second,  ear-piercing  shrieks  of  amazed  disap- 
pointment rent  the  air,  and  there  was  Khojee  on  her 
knees  attempting  pacification,  while  Khadjee  from  her 
tinsels  implored  immediate  gratification. 

"Give  it  him,  Nawab-j-^/'/^.^"  she  fluttered.  "  Lo ! 
he  will  die  in  a  fit ;  it  is  ill  denying  a  child ;  thou  canst 
take  it  back  when  he  tires  of  the  plaything." 

"  Yea !  give  it  him,  mecan^'  pleaded  Khojee,  ail  of  a 
tremble.  "  ^A  child's  cry  in  a  house  is  ill-luck ';  thou 
canst  take  it  back  when  he  sleeps." 

The  suggestion  struck  the  keynote  of  another  resent- 
ment in  Noormahal,  making  her  forget  the  vague  oppo- 
sition which  the  child's  claim  had  raised.  She  caught 
Sa'adut  to  her  sharply,  making  that  claim  her  own  ;  for 
now,  thinking  only  of  his  helplessness,  his  cries  hurt  her 
physically,  making  prudence  impossible. 

"  Yea,  give  it  him,  Jehan  Aziz,  Son  of  Kings  !  —  give 
it  him  in  jest  for  a  while.  It  is  easy  for  a  father  to 
steal  his  son's  right  from  him  while  he  sleeps ! " 


THE  KITE-FLYERS  33 

Jehan  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  fearful  curse ;  for  the 
tempest  of  ungovernable  anger  which  had  come  to  that 
elemental  group  in  the  still  sunshine,  had  brought  with 
it  the  usual  sense  of  personal  outrage  on  personal  virtue 
which  alone  makes  quarrel  possible. 

"  Steal  —  didst  say  steal  ?  "  he  echoed.  "  Ay,  but  'tis 
as  easy  for  a  wife  to  steal  from  her  husband  when  he 
wakes  !  Fool !  When  I  wrung  the  betrothal  pearls  from 
thee  last  year,  didst  think  I  did  not  know  there  was  a 
string  short .''  Didst  think  I  could  not  count  them  round 
ray  mother's  neck  when  she  held  me,  a  child  —  " 

Noormahal  paled,  yet  faced  him  with  a  scornful 
laugh.  "  Thou  didst  forget  to  count  the  string  she  sold 
when  thy  father  refused  her  bread ;  it  runs  in  the  blood, 
NavvabyV^.' " 

His  look  was  fiendish  now.  "That  is  a  lie,  woman! 
and  thou  knowest  it.  The  English  took  them,  as  they 
take  all  things.  Besides,  have  I  not  dallied  with  them 
round  thy  neck  since  then,  at  my  pleasure  .''  What !  are 
they  there  still  .-*  "  he  went  on  mockingly,  as  Noormahal's 
hand  all  unconsciously  found  the  slim  throat  hidden  by 
the  folds  of  her  veil.  "  Didst  keep  them  against  the 
chance  of  my  return  .''  " 

She  glared  at  him  helplessly,  yet  almost  forgetful  of 
the  brutality  of  his  insult  in  a  greater  wrong.  "  It  was 
for  the  child,  thou  knowest,"  she  said,  in  a  muffled 
voice;  "for  his  bride  —  as  it  was  for  thine,  Jehan;  as 
it  hath  been  ever  for  every  bride  in  the  king's  house." 

Her  words  which  came,  not  from  meekness  but  red- 
hot  rage,  made  even  Jehan  Aziz  flinch,  so  that  he  had 
to  bolster  himself  up  with  fresh  anger  ere  replying. 

"  And  /  let  thee  think  me  a  fool.  /  took  no  notice 
for  the  boy's  sake  too."  This  new  reading  of  his  own 
cowardice  restored  his  sense  of  virtue,  and  with  it  his 
courage.  "  But  now,  thief  !  "  he  went  on,  "  since  thou 
hast  dared  to  even  me  to  thyself,  as  well  as  think  me 
fool,  give  me  my  pearls!     Dost  hear.-*  —  the  pearls  !  " 

She  drew  herself  up  superbly.  "  I  called  thee  traitor," 
she  cried;  "that  is  enough  for  thee." 


34  VOICES  LV   THE  NIGHT 

"And  thief  for  thee.  Well,  traitor  and  thief  are  fit- 
ting mates !  Let  us  kiss  and  make  friends  on  that  com- 
radeship !  " 

She  returned  his  insolent  leer  with  a  cold  stare  for 
one  second ;  then,  in  the  headlong  repulsion  from  the 
least  tie  to  him,  tore  the  pearls  from  their  hiding-place 
and  flung  them  on  the  ground.  They  fell ;  the  string 
snapping,  to  scatter  a  few  of  its  milk-white  beads  about 
the  worn  carpet  of  state. 

Even  Jehan  hesitated ;  then  the  sight  of  what  meant 
money  overcame  his  dignity,  and  he  stooped  to  gather  up 
the  prize.  The  action  gave  him  time  for  quick  thought. 
This  windfall  might  serve  a  double  purpose.  By  sell- 
ing it  cheap  to  Lucanaster-.frt'///*^  he  could  stave  off  the 
bigger  question  of  the  emerald  for  a  bit,  and  at  the 
same  time  raise  enough  to  pay  his  more  pressing  debts. 
Both  these  considerations  brought  such  a  flavour  of  pure 
piety  to  his  task,  that  by  the  time  he  had  finished  it  he 
turned  magnificently  to  his  heir  who,  silenced  from  all 
save  sobs  by  his  elder's  passion,  was  being  com.forted 
by  Khojee,  while  Khadjee  whimpered  like  a  puppy  on 
her  string  bed. 

"  Lo  !  Sa'adut,"  he  said,  "take  thy  ring,  sonling  !  but 
give  it  not  to  thy  mother  to  hoard  if  thou  wouldst  grow 
to  wear  it,  since  thou  mayst  starve  the  while !  But  that 
is  her  doing,  not  mine,  who  would  let  this  house  — 
where  I  was  called  \}!\\Qi,  z.r\d  foujid  owt  —  and  give  thee 
proper  care,  if  I  had  my  choice.  So,  I  take  my  leave  of 
it  for  ever!  " 

Khojee,  still  on  her  knees  beside  the  child,  turned  in 
swift  alarm.  "Peace  go  with  my  lord,"  she  said,  her 
head  at  his  very  feet ;  "  the  outer  courtyard  will  be  ready 
as  ever  for  the  entertainment  —  " 

He  interrupted  her  mockingly.  "  I  must  learn  to  take 
my  pleasure  elsewhere,  noble  aunt ;  'twill  be  an  easier 
task  than  finding  it  here."  So,  with  an  insolent  stare  at 
his  wife,  he  strutted  out  jauntily. 

"Didst  hear.?"  quavered  Aunt  Khojee.  Khadeeja 
Khanum's  answering  whimper  was  almost  a  howl ;  but 


THE  KITE-FLYERS  35 

Noormahal  said  nothing.  She  was  thinking  of  her  tor- 
mentor's words  about  the  child.  Was  it  true  that  the 
price  of  the  ring  might  save  her  darling .'' 

For  the  present,  however,  the  ring  itself  satisfied  him. 
Appeased  even  from  sobs,  he  was  engrossed  in  finding 
out  which  of  his  tiny  fingers  went  nearest  to  filling  up 
its  gold  circlet.  As  he  did  so  the  green  gleam  of  the 
emerald  shone  broadly,  unbrokenly ;  for,  as  Mr.  Lucan- 
aster  had  often  told  his  Paris  principals,  the  legend 
scratched  on  it  was  so  faint  that  a  turn  of  the  wheel 
would  obliterate  it.     Yet  there  it  was  as  yet. 

"  Ftizl-IlaJii,  PanaJi-i-deeny 

Which,  being  translated,  is,  "  By  the  Grace  of  God 
Defender  of  the  Faith." 

Words  which  have  caused  much  shedding  of  blood 
and  tears. 

But  Sobrai  Begum  found  laughter  in  the  storm  they 
had  provoked. 

"  'Twas  only  Jehan  and  Noormahal  squabbling  over 
the  old  ring,"  she  tittered  over  the  wall  in  answer  to  a 
query.  "  In  the  end,  she  gave  him  the  last  of  the  pearls 
to  pacify  him.  I  would  have  used  them  to  better  pur- 
pose had  I  had  the  luck  to  have  my  hand  on  them ! " 
And  as  she  sullenly  obeyed  Aunt  Khojee's  call  to  help, 
she  told  herself  that  two  or  three  even  of  the  pearls 
would  have  brought  her  freedom  ;  would  have  given  her, 
as  Uncle  Lateef  had  expressed  it,  that  some  one  to  hold 
the  string  of  her  kite,  without  which  aid  independence 
was  impossible.  For  Sobrai  had  no  mind  for  the 
gutter. 

So  the  pearls,  if  she  had  them  — 

She  gave  a  little  gasp ;  in  folding  up  the  state  carpet, 
four  milk-white  beads  rolled  out  from  its  worn  strings. 

She  glanced  round  her  hastily. 

Khadjee  was  wiping  the  dimness  of  past  tears  from 
her  spectacles,  Khojee  was  replacing  the  cushions, 
Noormahal  was  brooding  over  Sa'adut,  who  had  fallen 
asleep  with  both  his  thumbs  thrust  into  the  ring,  as 
they  thrust  the  fingers  of  a  corpse  which  might  other- 


36  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

wise  come  back  to  disturb  the  living  with  what  should 
be  buried  and  forgotten. 

There  was  no  one  to  see.  And  no  one  to  know;  for 
Jehan  would  sell  or  pawn  the  remainder,  none  the  wiser. 
Even  if  he  suspected  anything  he  would  make  no  in- 
quiries, since  these  sales  were  done  in  secret. 

She  had  no  pocket,  and  to  tie  her  prize  in  the  corner 
of  her  veil  would  attract  attention.  So  she  slipped  the 
pearls  into  her  mouth,  and  held  her  tongue  even  when 
Aunt  Khojee  scolded  at  her  for  not  being  quicker. 
Such  silence  paid  better  than  any  retort,  and  it  also  gave 
her  time  to  mature  her  plans.  One  thing  was  certain, 
she  must  make  her  push  for  freedom  before  there  was 
any  chance  of  discovery,  for  it  was  just  possible  Jehan 
might  know  the  number  of  the  pearls.  The  sooner  the 
better,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  since  she  had  long 
made  up  her  mind  to  accept  Miss  Leezie's  offer  —  with 
a  suitable  fee  —  of  educating  her  to  that  walk  in  life. 
She  could  not  remain  dowerless,  unwed,  within  four 
walls  all  her  life !  And  if  one  had  to  amuse  oneself,  was 
it  not  better  to  do  it  openly,  in  a  recognised,  almost 
respectable  fashion,  which  was  countenanced  even  by 
the  Hiizoors  f 

As  she  made  her  plans,  Jehan  on  his  way  to  his 
bachelor  quarters  in  the  worst  bazaar  in  Nushapore  was 
making  his,  and  settling  that  he  would  certainly  lead 
that  pig  of  an  infidel,  Lucanaster,  to  think  he  would  in 
the  end  yield  the  emerald,  by  letting  him  have  the 
pearls  cheap,  under  promise  of  silence. 

This  was  imperative,  partly  for  the  sake  of  honour ; 
mostly  because  Salig  Ram,  the  usurer,  might  object  to 
any  one  else  getting  them. 


CHAPTER    III 


COBWEBS 


The  noonday  sun  lay  shadowless  in  every  nook  of  the 
narrow  evil-smelling  courtyard  which  formed  a  common 
exit  to  Jehan  Aziz's  bachelor  quarters  and  three  or  four 
other  houses  whose  fronts  faced  the  most  disreputable 
bazaar  in  Nushapore.  One  of  these  belonged  to  Dila- 
ram,  the  dancer,  and  the  remaining  ones  were  tenanted 
by  folk  of  similar  tastes,  such  as  Burkut  AH,  the  Delhi 
pensioner,  whom  Jack  Raymond  had  styled  the  biggest 
brute  in  Asia ;  but  Jie  had  a  double  reasoning  for  choos- 
ing the  courtyard,  in  that  it  enabled  him  better  to  play 
his  part  of  Buckingham  to  the  Rightful  Heir. 

Despite  its  character,  however,  the  courtyard  was 
peace  and  propriety  itself  in  the  perpendicular  glare  of 
noon ;  peaceful  and  proper  with  a  dreamy  drugged 
peace,  a  satiated  propriety  that  was  in  keeping  with  the 
heavy  yellow  sunshine. 

And  Dilaram  herself  matched  the  general  drowsiness 
as  she  sate,  muffled  in  a  creased  shawl,  yawning,  blowsy, 
ill-kempt,  upon  a  wooden  balcony  overlooking  the  court- 
yard. She  matched  the  squalor  of  the  scene  also ;  a 
squalor  which  seemed  to  put  the  pleasure  that  has  its 
marketable  value  out  of  possibility  in  such  surroundings. 

Jehan  Aziz,  who  sate  on  a  string  bed  below,  looked  a 
trifle  less  dilapidated  than  Dilaram,  for  his  morning 
toilet  had  extended  to  the  making  of  that  white  parting 
down  the  middle  of  his  oiled  hair,  and  a  due  shaving 
into  line  of  his  thin  moustache.  Not  that  these  results 
were  due  to  any  energy  on  his  part.  They  were  the 
work  of  the  barber,  who  was  now  occupied,  nearer  the 

37 


38  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

door,  in  paring  Burkut  Ali's  nails,  while  the  Heir  to 
Nothingness,  in  no  hurry  to  proceed,  chewed  betel 
thoughtfully,  and  looked  at  a  caged  quail  which  he 
meant  to  fight  against  a  rival's  so  soon  as  he  could  rouse 
himself  sufficiently  to  dress ;  for  he  had  got  no  further 
in  the  way  of  clothing  than  the  wrinkled  white  calico 
trousers  which,  by  reason  of  their  tightness,  have  to  be 
tenant's  fixtures  during  the  term  of  occupation. 

"So  Sobrai  Begum  hath  flitted  at  last!"  yawned 
Dilaram  (who  was  within  an  aside  of  Jehan)  with  a 
sudden  causeless  access  of  indifference  and  malice. 
"  And  Nawab  Jehan  Aziz,  Riikn-nd-dozvla-Hdfiz-til-Mulk, 
hath  in  consequence  one  less  mouth  to  feed  !  Peace  be 
with  him !  " 

"  Speak  lower,  fool,  or  the  barber  will  hear,  and  the 
tale  be  spread  over  the  town,"  muttered  Jehan  savagely, 
scowling  at  the  sarcasm  of  the  titles. 

A  day  and  a  night  had  passed  since  Aunt  Khojee, 
veiled  to  her  finger-tips  and  fluttering  like  any  pigeon, 
had  fled  through  the  bazaars  to  tell  the  head  of  her 
house  that  —  not  three  hours  after  he  had  left  it  in 
wrath  —  Sobrai  had  disappeared.  Jehan  Aziz,  after 
established  custom,  had  kept  the  scandalous  secret  to 
himself  and  his  immediate  family,  with  the  exception  of 
Dilaram,  to  whom  he  had  gone  at  once,  as  the  most 
likely  person  to  have  an  inkling  of  the  girl's  intentions. 
For  the  only  way  to  deal  with  such  cases  is  to  get  the 
truant  back  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  ensure  a  virtuous 
silence  in  the  future.  The  silence,  as  a  rule,  of  the 
grave.  So  the  chance  of  the  barber  having  extra  long 
ears  was  horrible. 

Dilaram,  however,  glanced  idly  at  the  group  by  the 
door,  which  gave  unreservedly  on  the  gutters  of  a 
cramped  alley,  and  yawned  again.  "  Not  he  !  Burkut 
hath  him  gaping  over  signs  and  wonders  that  will  be 
God's  truth  ere  the  whole  of  Nushapore  be  shaved ! 
They  are  more  to  the  barber's  trade  than  a  girl's  flight ; 
though  that  also  goes  far  nowadays,  what  with  all  the 
talk  about  such  things.     And  this  would  go  far  indeed,  if 


COB  WEBS  39 

set  a-going — with  a  head  of  He,  and  sparks  of  truth  in 
its  tail,  like  the  powder  in  an  E'ed^  squib." 

"  The  truth  !  "  echoed  Jehan,  in  swift  suspicion  ;  "  then 
thou  dost  know  somewhat,  after  all  ?  " 

She  yawned  again,  smiling.  "  Not  I !  Had  none  but 
my  sort  danced,  as  in  old  days,  in  kings'  houses,  Dila- 
ram  would  have  known  who  else  sought  to  flutter  in 
her  footsteps.  But  with  new  pleasures,  Nawab-j-a//Z(^, 
come  new  j^ains.  She  is  not  of  us  in  the  city ;  that  is 
sure.  But  there  are  baggages  with  bleached  hair  and 
powdered  faces  outside  it.  Ask  Miss  Leezie  !  I  heard 
her  say  she  lacked  apprentices."  Her  lazy  spitefulness 
was  effective,  and  Jehan  clenched  his  fine  hands  viciously. 
He  did  not  particularly  desire  to  get  Sobrai  back  —  ex- 
cept for  punishment  —  provided  scandal  could  be  avoided. 
He  was,  indeed,  well  quit  of  a  girl  for  whom  no  suitor 
could  be  found,  and  who  was  not  to  his  own  personal 
taste ;  but  the  suggestion  of  Dilaram's  words  stung 
horribly. 

"  God  smite  their  souls  to  the  nethermost  hell !  "  he 
muttered,  making  the  dancer  flick  her  fingers  with  a 
giggle. 

"  Lo  !  hearken  to  virtue  !  '  Not  a  rag  for  the  child  and 
a  coat  for  the  cat ! '  Men  be  no  worse  in  cantonments 
than  here  in  the  city  !  Nevertheless  the  tale,  as  I  said, 
could  be  told  to  a  purpose  by  a  clever  tongue.  It  would 
rouse  the  common  folk  more  than  Burkut's  lies  about 
portents,  or  the  baboo's  about  the  plague,  if  they  only 
knew  it ! " 

Jehan  Aziz  turned  on  her  like  a  snake,  sleepy  yet 
swift,  ready  for  dreams  or  death. 

"  If  thou  dost  dare  tell  —  " 

She  held  out  her  bare  brown  arm  in  a  quick  gesture 
of  silence,  and  rising,  swept  him  a  salaam  that  set  the 
hidden  anklets  beneath  her  dirty  draperies  a-jingling, 
and  proclaimed  her  what  she  was  —  a  passed  mistress 
in  the  oldest  of  professions  for  women. 

1  A  Mohammedan  Easter. 


40  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"There  is  no  need,  my  lord,"  she  said  superbly,  "to 
teach  Dilaram  her  duty  to  the  virtuous  women  who  sit 
free  of  shame  in  the  noble  houses  where  she  dances. 
We  learn  that  first  of  all." 

There  was  an  indescribable  grace  in  her  attitude,  a 
cadence  in  her  utterance,  which  proved  her  claim. 
She  was  of  the  old  school,  educated  to  her  craft. 

The  jingle  of  anklets  brought  a  man's  face  to  a  neigh- 
bouring balcony.  A  face  hollow-cheeked,  haggard,  with 
dissipation  written  on  it.  Brought  thither  by  curiosity, 
it  remained  in  approval  of  the  studiously-posed  figure  in 
the  creased  shawl.  Jehan's  face,  too,  showed  a  like  attrac- 
tion, and  Burkut  Ali,  the  nail-paring  over,  lounged  up 
with  a  savage  sort  of  discontent  at  his  own  inward  admi- 
ration —  a  regret,  as  it  were,  for  the  vices  of  his  ances- 
tors. As  a  rule,  Dilaram  and  her  dancing  did  not  amuse 
him  in  the  very  least.  He  had  passed  from  the  old 
style  to  the  new,  and,  indeed,  was  chiefly  responsible 
for  the  introduction  of  Miss  Leezie  and  her  like  to  the 
nobility  and  gentry  of  Nushapore.  But  now  he  was 
conscious  that  this,  in  its  way,  was  better ;  and  the  fact 
formed  a  fresh  item  in  his  general  grievance  against 
those  who,  having  taken  the  reins  of  government  from 
such  as  he,  had  driven  India  into  change  —  even  in  its 
wickedness ! 

The  secret  cherishing  of  this  general  grievance  of  his 
own  in  the  minds  of  others  was  Burkut  All's  whole  occu- 
pation in  life.  The  dilatory  disaffection  of  his  neigh- 
bours, a  disaffection  inevitable  in  a  society  which  this 
change  had  literally  ruined,  could,  he  had  discovered,  be 
turned  to  his  own  profit  in  two  ways.  First,  because,  as 
confidant  to  seditious  utterances,  he  gained  a  hold  on 
the  utterer ;  secondly,  because,  as  the  repeater  of  them 
to  persons  in  high  places,  he  gained  a  hold  on  the  hearer. 
For  the  rest  his  manners  were  perfection,  his  Persian  a 
pure  pleasure  to  the  ear.  And  both  these  were  at  their 
best  when  —  his  present  part  in  the  farce  of  vague  con- 
spirings  being  that  of  general  backer-up  of  Jehan's  spas- 
modic belief  in  his  own  claims  to  royalty  —  he  paused 


COBWEBS  41 

before  the  heir  in  the  most  elaborately  courtly  fashion 
and  began  mellifluously  — 

"  Hath  it,  perchance,  found  a  place  in  the  memory  of 
the  Most  High  that  this,  being  the  death-day  of  the 
sainted  lady  ancestress  Hafiz  Begum,  the  dirge  for  her 
soul  will  be  intoned  by  the  appointed  canons  at  the 
family  mausoleum?  And  as  this  will,  be  the  last 
time — " 

"  The  last  time  ?  "  echoed  Jehan  haughtily,  "  how  so  ?  " 

The  man's  face  in  the  balcony  sharpened  with  sudden 
interest.  Between  his  dissipations  he  was  editor  of  the 
vilest  broadsheet  in  the  town,  a  broadsheet  which  existed 
simply  by  virtue  of  its  unfailing  basis  of  firm  falsehoods. 

Burkut  knew  this,  and  had  cast  his  fly  dexterously. 
Now,  feeling  the  rise,  he  allowed  grave  concern  to  over- 
lay the  yellow  mask  of  his  face  —  it  was  one  of  those 
which  never  change  except  by  an  effort  of  will.  "  Be- 
cause, sire,"  he  replied,  in  tones  to  be  heard  of  all,  "  it 
is  known,  beyond  doubt,  that  the  English  Government, 
being  hard  pressed  by  reason  of  famines  and  the  yearly 
tribute  to  the  City  of  London,  which  the  low  value  of 
the  rupee  causes  to  be  greater  every  year,  hath  an  eye 
on  the  endowment  of  the  mausoleum." 

Govind  the  editor  stifled  a  yawn  of  disappointment. 
"That  tale  is  old,"  he  put  in  contemptuously,  "  I  heard 
it  a  week  past  from  the  Secretariat  Office.  My  cousin  is 
clerk — as  I  should  have  been  but  for  injustice  —  and  saw 
the  papers.  It  is  true  ;  for  see  you,  they  closed  the  mints 
so  as  to  make  the  poor  folk  sell  their  silver  hoards  cheap, 
and  now  the  rupees  are  scarce." 

He  nodded  sagely  over  his  own  political  economy,  and 
as  he  spoke  in  Urdu,  the  barber,  as  newsmonger  of  an 
older  type,  paused  in  the  sharpening  of  a  razor  to  listen. 

"  Impossible !  "  interrupted  Jehan  angrily.  "  The 
Government  is  bound  to  uphold  the  shrines  and  services 
by  strict  promises.  My  fathers  only  lent  them  the 
money  on  those  conditions.  The  interest  was  to  be 
spent — " 

Govind  burst  into  boisterous  lauschter ;   for  his  head 


42  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

was  muddled,  his  nerves  unstrung  by  an  overnight 
debauch. 

"  Ay  !  Nawab/^^.  Crores  and  crores  of  rupees  lent 
in  the  old  days,  and  the  interest  spent  now  in  gardens 
for  the  inenis  to  play  games  in,  and  statues  to  their  own 
Queen !  But  it  is  no  new  thing,  I  tell  you.  I  am  no 
ignoramus  —  I  am  viiddle  fail}  I  have  read  their  his- 
tories, and  I  know.  They  took  all  the  religious  endow- 
ments in  their  own  land,  and  "  —  he  added  louder,  as  an 
ash-smeared  naked  figure  which  had  been  passing  along 
the  alley  with  the  beggar's  cry  of  "  Aldkh  Aldkh " 
paused  to  listen  —  "  would  have  killed  the  religious  also 
but  for  those  among  them  like  Gladstone  and  Caine- 
sa/iil>  who  say,  as  we  do,  that  the  others  are  tyrants  and 
have  no  right  to  India." 

The  hotch-potch  of  history  was  interrupted  by  Dil- 
aram's  yawn.  " Haz  /  Hai !  brother!"  she  said,  "keep 
that  dreary  stuff  for  Burkut  or  the  barber  —  they  can 
spread  it  over  folk's  hot  imaginings  like  butter  on  a  hearth 
cake!  Or  give  it  to  jogi-jee  yonder,"  she  swept  her 
fingers  to  the  weird  figure  at  the  door ;  a  figure  whose 
right  hand  and  arm,  withered  in  the  ceaseless  task  of 
appealing  to  high  heaven  for  righteousness,  showed  like 
a  dry  stick  pointing  upwards,  "  though  he  and  his  like 
are  never  at  a  loss  for  lies.  Hast  a  new  one  to-day, 
Gopi .''  Or  is  it  still  the  old  wonder  of  the  golden  paper 
which  fell  from  the  sky  into  one  of  Mother  Kali's  many 
embraces  !  " 

"  Jest  not  of  Her  sister,"  said  \\iQ.jogi  in  a  theatrically 
hollow  voice,  as  he  thrust  his  left  arm  —  lean  as  a  lath, 
yet  round  in  comparison  with  that  raised  claim  to  virtue 
— towards  her  in  menace.  "Thou  art  Hers,  even  in  thy 
denial  of  Her.  Woman  as  She,  spreading  disease  and 
death.  Mother  of  Pain,  embracing  the  world,  biding 
thy  time  to  slay." 

Despite  the  palpable  striving  for  effect,  something  in 
the  words  thrilled  the  woman  beneath  the  courtezan  ; 

^  Failed  for  middle  school  examination  ;  a  very  general  claim  to  culture 
in  India. 


COBWEBS  43. 

and  though  she  flicked  all  her  supple  fingers  in  derision, 
there  was  a  note  of  triumph  in  her  voice. 

"  Talk  not  to  me,  saint,  as  to  thy  Hindoo  widows  who 
believe  in  golden  papers  and  gods.  Yet  'tis  true !  We 
of  the  bazaar  lead  the  world  by  the  nose  !  Govind  may 
blacken  what  he  likes  with  ink.  Burkut's  craft  may 
spend  itself  in  spider's  webs.  The  plague  may  come. 
Yea!  even  the  snififing  out  of  other  folk's  smells  —  ay! 
and  the  payment  for  silence!  —  may  be  taken  from  the 
Miinbrdiis-Q.ovL\m\\X^Q,  and  yet  the  world  will  wag  peace- 
ful. But  touch  lis  and  it  is  different.  Let  none  meddle 
with  the  men's  women  or  with  our  will,  or  they  meddle 
to  their  cost!  " 

She  tucked  the  creased  shawl  closer  around  her,  and 
squatted  down  once  more  in  the  sunshine ;  the  heavy 
sunshine  in  which  those  others  sat  also  with  a  sudden 
fierce  approval  in  their  hearts. 

It  was  highest  noon,  and  the  sky  was  a  blaze  of  molten 
light ;  so  that  the  shadow  from  a  wheeling  kite  overhead, 
as  it  sought  v/ith  keen  eyes  amid  the  refuse  of  the  city 
for  some  prize,  circled  in  sharp  outline  about  the  squalid 
courtyard,  falling  on  one  figure,  flitting  to  another,  link- 
ing them  together,  as  it  were,  by  its  hungry  restless 
desire. 

So,  for  a  space,  there  was  a  drowsy  silence,  on  which 
the  beggar's  cry  for  alms,  as  he  went  on  his  way  pausing 
at  every  door  in  the  cramped  alley,  rose  monotonously. 

After  which,  Burkut,  stifling  a  yawn,  suggested  that  if 
the  Heir  to  all  Things  wished  to  receive  his  due  recog- 
nition as  head  of  the  family  at  the  mausoleum,  it  was 
time  to  commence  dressing ;  whereupon  Jehan  yawned 
also,  and  demanded  his  shoes  from  Lateefa,  who  had 
just  come  in  with  a  selected  bundle  of  kites  for  choice 
against  the  evening  flight. 

"  I  shall  need  none  to-day,"  said  Jehan  sulkily.  "  My 
good  time  hath  to  be  wasted  in  dirges  and  prayers  for  a 
dead  old  woman  who  is  naught  to  me.  Then,"  he  added 
aside,  half  to  himself  with  a  frown,  "  I  must  see  Lucan- 
aster  —  may  he  roast  with  fire  !  " 


44  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"  If  it  please  God  !  "  assented  Burkut  piously.  Then 
he  added,  "  If  it  is  aught  I  can  do  —  the  hell-doomed 
being  in  my  debt  for  some  things  —  I  might  drive  a 
better  bargain,  perhaps." 

Jehan  had  not  breathed  a  word  to  any  one  of  his 
windfall  of  pearls,  but  certain  evidences  during  the  last 
two  days  that  he  had,  or  expected  to  have  cash,  had 
raised  Burkut's  curiosity. 

But  Jehan  had  no  intention  of  having  any  witness  to 
his  interview,  least  of  all  one  to  whom  he  owed  money, 
so  he  turned  on  Burkut  insolently. 

"  I  need  no  man's  offices,  so  keep  thy  right  hand  to 
wash  thy  left !  " 

If  there  was  resentment  behind  Burkut  All's  yellow 
mask,  the  latter  hid  it  successfully.  "Then  I  will  but 
accompany  the  Nawab  to  the  mausoleum,"  he  said  def- 
erentially.    "  Its  owner  cannot  go  unattended  !  " 

It  was  a  motley  cargo  which  the  rickety,  red-flannel- 
lined  wagonette  (which  Jehan's  usurer  allowed  him  as 
part  of  the  stock-in-trade  necessary  for  a  pension-earner) 
carried  to  the  stucco  tombs  of  dead  kings  —  for  every- 
thing, including  the  dynasty  itself,  had  been  stucco  at 
Nushapore !  First  there  was  the  Heir  in  his  second- 
best  coatee  of  flowered  green  satin,  then  Burkut,  burly 
in  a  yellow  one  to  match,  and  Lateefa,  despite  his  calico, 
gayer  than  either  by  reason  of  his  inevitable  kites. 
Finally  there  was  the  coachman  in  ragged  livery,  and 
three  attendants  in  rags  without  the  livery  ;  literal  hang- 
ers-on, clinging  to  the  great  scraper-like  steps  which 
seemed  the  only  reliable  portions  of  the  vehicle. 

It  had  not  far  to  go,  however,  over  the  white  road  and 
through  the  clouds  of  dust ;  for  the  mausoleum  stood 
just  outside  the  city  in  a  garden  that  was  irresistibly 
suggestive  of  a  cdf^  cJiantant  by  reason  of  its  stucco 
statuary,  its  preparations  for  nightly  illumination,  and 
a  generally  meretricious  scheme  of  decoration. 

The  tomb  itself  —  squat,  and  bulging  with  inconse- 
quent domes  — stood  on  a  plinth  towards  one  end  of  the 
garden,  and  from  it,  as  the  wagonette  discharged  its 


COBWEBS  45 

load  at  the  gates,  came  the  sound  of  monotonous  chant- 
ing. But  this  hesitated,  paused,  ceased  in  a  murmur  of 
"  the  Nawab  !  "  as  Jehan,  with  a  new  dignity  in  his  man- 
ner, passed  up  the  steps,  and  so  —  with  2.  posse  of  cring- 
ing officials  who  had  hurried  to  meet  him  buzzing  round 
like  bees — entered  the  wide  hall;  for  despite  the 
domes,  despite  the  minarets  outside,  this  tomb  of  dead 
kings  was  nothing  else  within.  It  was  just  a  vast 
oblong  hall  hung  throughout  its  length  with  huge, 
dusty,  cobwebbed,  glass  chandeliers  which,  taken  in 
conjunction  with  the  empty  polished  floor,  were  sug- 
gestive of  a  ballroom ;  the  dancing-saloon  of  the  cafe 
chantant ! 

In  the  very  centre,  however,  of  the  emptiness  was  a 
low  roly-poly  tomb,  above  which  rose  a  musty-fusty 
baldequin  which  had  once  been  stately  in  velvet  and 
pearls.  But  the  moth  had  fretted  new  patterns  on  the 
curtains,  and  the  cobwebs  lay  like  torn  lace  on  the 
canopy.  Nevertheless,  two  faintly-smouldering  silver 
censers,  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  tomb,  showed  it 
not  all  neglected.  And  something  else,  witness  to 
memory,  lay  between  the  censers,  under  a  common 
glass  shade  such  as  covers  the  marble-and-gilt  timepiece 
of  a  bogus  auction,  or  the  dusty  waxen  flowers  of  a 
cheap  lodging. 

It  was  the  last  Nawab's  turban  of  state. 

For  the  rest,  the  hall  lay  empty  save  for  its  officials ; 
the  minor  canons  as  it  were,  who  still  received  the  sti- 
pends set  apart  by  the  deceased  kings  for  due  daily 
chantings  of  dirges,  and  so  clustered  round  Jehan  with 
courtier-like  salaams. 

But  not  for  long ;  since  almost  before  they  had  con- 
ducted him  to  the  royal  pew  —  an  inlaid  square  of  floor- 
ing close  to  the  baldequin  —  a  fresh  arrival  sent  them 
cringing  and  fluttering  to  greet  it,  with  greed  in  their 
hungry  faces  ;  the  faces  of  custodians  to  whom  strangers 
give  tips. 

And  this  party  of  English  tourists  looked  promising, 
if  only  from  the  reluctant  way  in  which,  in  obedience  to 


46  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

a  notice  on  the  door,  they  took  off  their  hats,  and  then 
glanced  round  with  the  "  Thank-the-goodness-and-the- 
grace-which-on-my-birth-hath-smiled "  expression  which 
our  race  learns  in  the  nursery.  For  this  is  a  frame  of 
mind  which  leads  to  a  contemptuous  tipping  of  inferior 
races. 

"Guide  says  that's  the  last  Johnnie's  cap  —  beastly 
dirty,  isn't  it.-'"  said  one  in  a  churchy  whisper,  and  the 
others  nodded  in  churchy  silence.  So,  decorously  — 
barring  a  faint  desire  to  try  the  waltzing  capabilities  of 
the  floor  on  the  part  of  a  brother  and  sister  in  one  cor- 
ner —  they  hesitated  round  the  building  with  the  half- 
shy,  half-defiant  "thus  far  I  xvill  go  but  no  further" 
reluctance  to  admit  any  interest  in  strange  places  of 
worship,  which  is  also  a  sign  of  race. 

And  Jehan  from  his  royal  square  watched  them, 
oblivious  of  his  prayers,  until  quite  calmly,  innocently, 
they  included  him  as  part  of  the  show. 

Then  he  rose  and  said  to  Burkut,  who  was  praying  to 
perfection  behind  — 

"  I  stay  not  for  this.  And  we  are  too  soon,  for  all  thy 
fuss  of  being  late.  'Twill  be  a  good  half-hour  ere  the 
dirge  begins.  So  I  go  to  Lucanaster's.  —  Nay  !  "  he 
added  hastily,  as  Burkut  began  to  rise  also,  "  thou  canst 
stay  here,  and  if  any  of  note  come  in  my  absence,  tell 
them  I  return." 

So  with  a  cunning  smile  leavening  his  scowl  at  the 
tourists,  he  passed  out.  In  truth  he  was  glad  of  the 
excuse  which  made  it  possible  to  take  no  one  but 
Lateefa,  who  was  to  be  trusted  —  who  indeed  had  to 
be  trusted  in  all  things,  since  he  knew  all  things  —  with 
him  to  Mr.  Lucanaster's  house ;  for  even  if  he  had 
left  Burkut  outside  during  his  interview,  there  was  no 
saying  what  the  latter  might  not  have  discovered,  or  say 
he  had  discovered,  which  would  answer  his  purpose  of 
pressure  quite  as  well !  For  Jehan,  like  most  of  Burkut's 
acquaintances,  was  quite  aware  of  the  latter's  method. 

Five  minutes  after,  therefore,  (since  Mr.  Lucanaster's 
house  lay  conveniently  close  to  the  city  and  his  numerous 


COB  WEBS  47 

clients  there,)  Jehan  found  himself  tcte-a-tete  with  a 
shrewd  commercial  face  intent  on  the  scientific  counting 
of  a  string  of  pearls  with  a  paper-knife. 

"Three,  six,  nine,  twelve,"  came  Mr.  Lucanaster's 
voice  as  the  ivory  slipped  between  the  triplets  of  pearls. 

"Fifty  and  five,"  he  said  finally,  and  Jehan  nodded. 

"Fifty  and  five,"  he  assented.  "What  will  you  give 
me  for  them,  Hnzoorf 

Mr.  Lucanaster  drew  a  despatch-box  towards  him, 
opened  it,  looked  at  a  paper,  and  smiled  lavishly. 

"Nothing,  ^2i\N2ih-sahib,"  he  said  calmly;  "for,  to 
begin  with,  there  are  five  short  on  the  string.  There 
were  sixty  on  it  when  it  was  stolen." 

Jehan  nearly  jumped  from  his  chair.  "Stolen!"  he 
echoed.  "It  is  a  lie — they  are  mine  —  they  were  my 
mother's." 

The  lavish  smile  continued.  "Exactly,  ^?i\\dih-sa/nb, 
the  description  says  so ;  and  they  were  stolen  from 
Government  House  two  nights  ago." 

"But  I  tell  you  it  is  impossible  —  my  house  was 
wearing  them  —  " 

"  Excuse  me ;  but  you  sold  your  mother's  pearls  last 
year !  I  happen  to  know,  because  Gunga  Mull,  who 
bought  them,  was  acting  for  me.  You  had  refused  my 
direct  offer,  if  you  remember,  and  you  lost  a  thousand 
rupees  in  consequence.  It  is  safer  to  trust  me  in  the 
end,  Nawab-jf?///^^',"  put  in  Mr.  Lucanaster  suavely. 

"  But  not  one  string,"  protested  Jehan,  trying  to  be 
haughty.  "  This  one  I  kept,  and  if  the  Huzoor  does  not 
wish  to  buy,  I  can  sell  it  elsewhere,  as  I  did  before." 

He  stretched  his  hand  for  the  string,  but  Mr.  Lucan- 
aster sate  back  in  his  chair  dangling  the  pearls,  and 
looked  at  the  Rightful  Heir  as  a  spider  looks  at  a  fly. 

"  I  wouldn't  try  if  I  were  you,  Nawab-j-rt-///*^,"  he  said 
slowly.  "It  might  lead  to  —  to  difficulties.  And  the 
coincidence  is  not  very -^  very  credible.  But  if  you  are 
really  in  need  of  money" — he  spoke  still  more  slowly 
—  "  there  is  always  the  emerald.  Let  me  see!  I  offered 
you  six  thousand,  didn't  I  .-*  —  well,  let  us  say  eight ;  and 


48  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

—  nothing  to  be  said  about  —  about  these  —  "  He  passed 
the  pearls  deftly  through  his  fingers  as  if  appraising 
them,  and  added,  "  They  are  really  very  fine  pearls, 
Nawab-i"rt'///<5',  quite  noticeable  pearls.  I  haven't  seen 
better  for  a  long  time,  so  it  is  a  pity  they  are  unsaleable 
at  present.  By  and  by,  perhaps,  or  in  some  ether 
place  —  " 

"  Does  the  Huzoor  mean  —  "  began  Jehan  blusteringly. 

Mr.  Lucanaster  looked  up  suddenly,  sharply,  drew  the 
open  despatch-box  closer,  dropped  the  pearls  into  it,  and 
closed  the  box  with  a  snap.  "  I  mean  nothing,  Nawab- 
saJiib,  except  that,  for  your  own  sake,  those  pearls  had 
better  stay  there  for  the  present.  You  will  only  be 
tempted  to  raise  money  on  them  in  the  bazaar,  and  as 
I  —  if  I  were  asked  my  opinion,  as  I  certainly  should 
be  —  would  say  they  were  the  stolen  pearls,  it  is  better 
not  to  run  the  risk  of  my  having  to  give  evidence." 

"I  — I  will  complain  —  I  will  go  to  the  commissioner," 
stammered  Jehan,  completely  taken  aback. 

"  I  wouldn't  if  I  were  you ;  a  police  inquiry  would  be 
the  devil  to  a  man  of  your  character ;  and  meanwhile  — 
until  you  let  me  have  the  emerald  —  here's  something 
for  current  expenses." 

Jehan  looked  for  a  moment  as  if  he  would  dearly 
have  liked  to  fling  the  notes  which  Mr.  Lucanaster 
pushed  over  the  table  to  him  back  in  the  donor's  face; 
but  he  refrained.  Money  was  always  something,  and 
some  of  it  might  even  go  to  pay  the  poisoning  of  this 
hell-doomed  infidel,  who  dared  to  pretend  he  thought 
the  pearls  were  stolen ;  for  Jehan  was  shrewd  enough 
to  see  the  other's  game.  Not  that  it  mattered  whether 
he  pretended  to  think,  or  really  thought.  The  pinch 
lay  in  that  threat  of  a  police  inquiry ;  and  neither  the 
truth  nor  the  falsehood  of  a  charge  mitigated  or  in- 
creased the  sheer  terror  of  that  possibility. 

So  Jehan,  viiiuis  his  pearls,  but  with  five  hundred 
rupees  in  his  pocket,  drove  back  to  the  tomb  of  his  dead 
ancestors  in  a  tumult  of  impotent  anger.  He  felt  him- 
self closer  in  the  toils  than  he  had  been,  and  —  naturally 


COB  WEBS  49 

enough  in  a  man  of  his  sort  —  the  utmost  of  his  rage 
was  expended  on  the  person  over  whom  he  had  most 
power  of  retaliation — that  is,  on  Noormahal. 

Why,  he  asked  himself,  had  he  been  fool  enough  to 
let  her  get  hold  of  the  emerald  again  ?  It  had  been 
within  his  reach,  and  now  it  was  gone  again  —  hoarded 
by  a  foolish  woman  for  the  sake  of  a  barren  honour. 

Barren?  No!  not  altogether  barren!  As  he  stood 
once  more  in  the  arched  doorway  of  the  mausoleum, 
this  feeling  came  to  assuage  the  sting  of  his  treatment 
by  Mr.  Lucanaster,  and  yet  to  make  its  smart  more 
poignant. 

For  the  assemblage  had  gathered.  The  chandeliers 
were  lit,  and  the  myriad-hued  flash  of  their  prisms  hid 
the  dust,  hid  the  cobwebs,  and  gave  a  new  brilliance  to 
the  mourners  gathered  in  their  appointed  places.  The 
tourists  were  gone  now.  These  were  his  own  people. 
They  were  waiting  for  him. 

As  he  paused,  a  new  arrival  entering  by  a  side  door 
paused  also  —  paused  right  in  front  of  him  before  the 
glass  case  containing  the  last  king's  turban  of  state. 
So,  after  salaaming  to  it  profoundly,  sought  the  square 
belonging  to  his  rank. 

Jehan  gave  a  low  savage  laugh  of  satisfaction,  and 
passed  on  to  his. 

Here  it  was  the  first !  Here,  at  any  rate,  honour  was 
his! 

Burkut,  watching  him  swagger  over  to  his  prayers, 
smiled.  If  this  sort  of  thing  went  on,  he  would  have 
his  choice  of  fostering  a  real  conspiracy  or  denouncing 
it.  That  was  the  best  of  having  an  open  mind  ;  at 
least  two  courses  were  always  open  to  one. 

So,  when  the  dirge  was  sung,  he  went  and  paid  his 
respects  to  one  or  two  officials,  and  then,  the  time  for 
gossip  and  kite-flying  having  arrived,  joined  the  worst 
company  in  Nushapore,  where  he  talked  sedition  and 
backed  the  paper  nothingnesses  as  they  dipped  and 
rose  an  inch  or  two,  only  to  fall  again,  until  the  dusk 
blotted  their  gay  colours  from  the  sky.     But  below  the 


50  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

bastioned  river  wall  abutting  on  the  railway  bridge, 
which  was  the  favourite  meeting-place  of  kite-flyers, 
the  dusk  brought  out  other  colours  to  take  their  place  ; 
close  at  hand  and  further  off,  half-way  across  the  river, 
and  right  upon  its  further  shore,  came  red  and  green 
lights,  steady  as  stars.  Until,  in  the  far  distance,  a  red 
changed  to  green,  the  signals  which  had  stood  against 
the  evening  express  dropped,  and  it  showed  upon  the 
bridge  like  some  huge  glowworm,  slackening  speed  as 
it  came ;  for  the  station  lay  not  two  hundred  yards  from 
where  the  bridge  ended  in  a  semi-fortified  gateway. 

So  the  train  slid  past  below  the  bastioned  wall  almost 
at  a  foot's  pace,  and  half  a  dozen  or  more  English  lads, 
part  of  a  fresh  draft  from  England  just  up  from  Bom- 
bay, thrust  their  heads  out  of  the  window  curious  to  see 
what  this  strange  place,  what  this  strange  race  with 
which  they  were  to  have  so  much  to  do,  were  like. 

"  Well !  I  am  blowed  if  they  aren't  flyin'  kites  like 
Christians,"  said  one  in  a  hushed  voice,  "an'  I  thought 
they  was  all  'eathen,  I  did — " 


CHAPTER    IV 

an  unforgotten  past 

"  Mr.  Raymond!  " 

Lady  Arbuthnot's  voice  was  insistent,  yet  soft.  She 
wanted  to  rouse  the  sleeper  without  attracting  attention, 
and  now  that  the  waning  of  dayHght  had  ended  out-door 
amusements,  people  had  begun  to  drift  into  the  club. 
The  library  tables  were  being  rifled  of  the  new  picture 
papers,  the  smoking  bar  was  fast  filling  with  men,  and 
sounds  of  women's  laughter  came  from  the  quaint 
vaulted  rooms  where  badminton  was  being  continued 
by  electric  hght. 

But  an  almost  Eastern  peace  still  lingered  in  certain 
nooks  between  the  interlacing  aisles  of  the  building 
(which  had  once  been  the  palace  of  kings)  —  and  in  one 
of  these  Grace  Arbuthnot  had  run  her  quarry.  Jack 
Raymond,  to  earth  in  a  lounge-chair  fast  asleep  over  a 
French  novel. 

The  remains  of  a  stiff  whisky-peg  stood  on  a  small 
table,  and  Grace  Arbuthnot  looked  at  it  vexedly,  then 
at  the  face,  but  half  visible  in  the  dim  light;  for  the 
lamp  had  been  deliberately  turned  down. 

She  had  not  seen  it  closely  for  twelve  years  except 
for  those  brief  minutes  at  the  race-meeting,  now  nearly 
a  week  ago ;  for,  rather  to  her  indignation,  Mr.  Ray- 
mond had  not  followed  up  the  renewal  of  their  acquaint- 
ance by  calling.  What  is  more,  he  had  emphasised  the 
omission  by  writing  his  name  in  the  visitor's  book,  as  a 
perfect  stranger  might  have  done.  The  fact  had  roused 
her  antagonism  ;  she  had  told  herself  that  she  would 
decline  to  have  that  past  of  theirs  treated  as  if  it  were 
not  past  and  forgotten.      For  though,  ten  years  ago, 

51 


52  VOICES  IiV  THE  NIGHT 

she  had  certainly  been  engaged  to  Jack  Raymond,  they 
had  broken  off  their  engagement  by  mutual  consent, 
with  their  eyes  open;  so  it  was  foolish  to  fuss  about  it 
now.  And  so,  partly  from  this  antagonism,  partly  from 
a  diametrically  opposite  motive  —  the  inevitable  woman's 
desire  to  keep  some  hold  on  the  man  she  has  once  loved 
—  it  had  occurred  to  her,  when  the  days  passed  and 
brought  no  news  of  the  missing  jewel-box,  that  if  she 
were  to  consult  any  one  regarding  the  letter,  it  might  be 
well  to  choose  Jack  Raymond.  He  was  one,  she  knew, 
absolutely  to  be  trusted  by  any  woman ;  his  position  — ■ 
miserable  as  it  was  from  an  official  point  of  view  —  gave 
him  unusual  opportunities  of  being  able  to  help  her; 
and  finally  —  Why !  Oh !  why  should  he  go  off  at  a 
tangent  and  make  her  feel  responsible .'' 

And  yet,  as  she  looked  at  his  sleeping  face,  noting  its 
change,  the  unfamiliarity  where  once  all  had  been  so 
familiar,  she  frowned  and  turned  as  if  to  go,  wondering 
what  had  induced  her  to  think  of  consulting  this  man. 
What  could  he  do  now }  Once  upon  a  time,  when  he 
was  different  —  when  he  was,  as  she  recollected  him  — 

The  thought  softened  her  face,  and  sent  her  back  to 
call  again,  "  Mr.  Raymond  !  " 

He  did  not  stir.  Was  the  whisky-peg  responsible 
for  the  soundness  of  his  sleep  ?  And  was  she  responsi- 
ble for  the  whisky-peg .''  She  had  known  for  years 
that  he  had  drifted  away,  as  it  were,  from  everything 
that  made  life  seem  worth  living  to  her,  but  the  contrast 
between  her  fate  and  his  had  never  come  home  to  her 
before.  The  wife  of  a  Lieutenant-Governor  —  as  he 
might  have  been  if  he  had  not  thrown  up  the  service  in 
a  pet  —  and  the  Secretary  to  the  club!  What  a  mis- 
erable failure  for  such  a  man !  A  man  who  for  two 
long  years  had  been  her  ideal — who  even  now  could 
do,  should  do —  She  bent  towards  him  suddenly,  quite 
irrationally,  and  whispered,  '^Jack  !" 

As  she  paused  expectant,  there  was  a  half-mischievous 
smile  in  her  pretty  eyes ;  and  yet  they  held  a  suspicion 
of  tears.     It  was  such  an  odd  world.     Why  could  not  a 


AN  UNFORGOTTEN  PAST  53 

woman  forget  when  she  had  ceased  to  care  ?  Men  did  ; 
this  one  certainly  had  —  no  !  — 

The  still  small  voice  had  apparently  taken  time  to 
filter  through  to  its  destination ;  but  it  had  found  the 
chord  of  memory,  and  struck  it  sharply. 

"  Yes  !  what  is  it,  dear  ?  "  came  the  answer  drowsily. 
Then  Jack  Raymond  stirred,  stared,  finally  woke  to  facts. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Lady  Arbuthnot,"  he  began, 
rising  hurriedly,  "  I  had  been  playing  some  hard  games 
at  racquets,  and  —  " 

"  But  you  always  do  sleep  about  this  time,  don't  you  .'' 
I've  noticed  you  in  the  distance,"  she  said  coolly.  The 
suggestion  in  her  words  that  she  still  had  some  right  to 
criticise,  added  to  his  surprised  irritation  at  finding  that 
he  had  somehow  gone  back  to  the  past.  Why  the  deuce 
should  the  memory  of  the  very  inflection  of  her  voice  as 
she  used  to  say  "Jack"  have  come  back  to  confuse  his 
brain,  and  absolutely  make  his  heart  beat .'' 

"Yes  !  "  he  replied,  with  palpable  hardihood,  "you're 
right.  I  generally  do  sleep.  There's  nothing  else  to 
do,  you  see,  between  tennis  and  whist.  But  if  you  want 
any  stores  from  the  go-down,^  I  am  quite  at  your  com- 
mands. There  is  an  awfully  good  Stilton  on  cut,  if 
you'd  like  some." 

She  beat  her  foot  impatiently.  This  thrusting  for- 
ward of  his  duties  as  a  sort  of  high-class  grocer  was 
unpayable !  He  could  not  think  she  had  sought  him 
out  in  order  to  buy  Stilton  cheese  of  him !  And  yet  — 
how  like  the  old  headstrong  Jack  it  was  ! 

"  Do  tennis  and  whist  make  up  your  day  now,  Mr. 
Raymond? "she  said  swiftly.     "  It  used  not  to  be  so." 

The  reproach  in  her  voice  was  plain,  and  he  resented 
it.  She  had  left  him  to  go  his  own  way,  and  he  had 
gone  it.     What  business  was  it  of  hers  now } 

"  You  forget  the  racing  and  the  betting,"  he  answered 
coolly;  "and  my  incurable  idleness  has  at  least  this 
virtue  —  it  leaves  me,  as  I  said,  at  Lady  Arbuthnot's 
disposal." 

^  In  India  members  can  buy  provisions  or  wines  imported  by  their  club. 


54  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

He  gave  a  little  formal  bow,  which  sent  another  pang 
of  memory  through  her.  The  fact  annoyed  her.  How 
intolerable  it  was,  that  despite  his  degeneration  into  a 
high-class  grocer  —  here  she  smiled  faintly  —  he  could 
scarcely  speak  a  word  to  her,  here  in  the  semi-darkness 
—  they  two  alone  —  without  bringing  back —  Ah!  so 
much  !  Yes !  it  was  intolerable.  It  must  be  ignored ; 
or  rather  the  solid,  sensible  facts  must  be  dragged  out 
into  the  daylight  and  given  their  real  significance. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  she  replied,  "  for  I  want  you  to 
help  me.  But  let  us  sit  down  —  people  will  be  less 
likely  to  disturb  us  then." 

He  obeyed,  feeling  restive  under  her  calm  superiority, 
yet  admiring  it.  She  was  no  failure,  anyhow ;  he  had 
been  right  in  his  choice,  years  ago.  Not  that  it  mat- 
tered ;  since  all  that  had  once  been  between  them  had 
been  forgotten  —  by  him  at  any  rate.  Absolutely  for- 
gotten. 

"  Mr.  Raymond  !  "  she  began  suddenly,  leaning  closer 
to  him  over  the  table,  "surely  it  would  be  foolish  in 
either  of  us  to  be  ashamed,  or  to  pretend  forgetfulness 
of  the  close  tie  that  was  between  us  —  once." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten,"  he  said  involuntarily,  then 
paused  disconcerted  at  his  own  collapse.  Which  was 
true,  his  denial  or  affirmation  of  memory  .-•  Both,  in  a 
way. 

She  smiled,  as  women  do,  at  remembrance,  even  when 
they  believe  they  wish  forgetfulness. 

"  I  said  pretend,  Mr.  Raymond ! "  she  corrected. 
"We  are  not  likely  to  forget.     Why  should  we  .-•  " 

"  On  the  other  hand,  why  should  we  remember }  "  he 
asked.     "The  past,  Lady  Arbuthnot,  is  past." 

The  very  idea  of  his  thinking  it  necessary  to  assert 
this  made  her  frown. 

"  Exactly  so ;  therefore  I  come  to  you  because  mem- 
ory gives  me  a  friend,  nothing  more.  And  I  need  a 
friend  just  now." 

"  You  have  plenty  of  them  to  choose  from,"  he  began, 
"you  always  had  —  " 


AN   UNFORGOTTEN  PAST  55 

"And  I  choose  you,"  she  put  in,  with  a  charming 
little  nod. 

He  sat  bewildered  for  a  moment,  then  said  stiffly, 
"  May  I  ask  why  ?  " 

"  If  I  may  answer  by  the  question,  why  not  ?  Surely 
we  need  not  be  strangers?     And  besides  —  " 

"  And  besides  ? "  he  echoed  grimly,  "  a  woman's 
second  reason  is  generally  better  than  her  first." 

Lady  Arbuthnot's  face  grew  grave.  "  Mine  is,  Mr. 
Raymond,  infinitely  better.  What  I  want  your  help  for 
is  no  mere  personal  matter ;  it  is  something  in  which 
you  might  do  a  yeoman's  service  to  the  Government  —  " 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  interrupted  brusquely  ;  "  but, 
as  I  thought  you  knew,  I  found  out  twelve  years  ago  that 
the  Government  could  do  very  well  without  my  services." 

"  It  might  have  done  better  with  them  —  " 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  repeated;  "and  this  diffi- 
culty of  yours .'' " 

She  flushed  up.  "  Excuse  me  !  It  was  you,  not  I, 
who  wandered  from  the  point.  I  knew  my  reasons  for 
choosing  your  help.  However,  let  us  stick  to  business. 
I  have  lost  a  jewel-case." 

"  So  I  heard,"  he  said,  "  and  I  am  sorry  it  should 
have  contained  your  pearls." 

Pearls !  she  thought  vexedly ;  did  he  think  she  had 
come  to  him  about  the  pearls }  That  was  but  a  step 
better  than  Stilton  cheese.  His  following  words,  how- 
ever, disarmed  her. 

"  They  belonged  to  your  mother,  I  remember ;  they 
were  beautiful  pearls  !  " 

"Yes!"  she  assented  softly,  and  paused.  "But  it  is 
not  the  pearls,"  she  went  on.  "I  will  tell  you  what  it 
is,  and  why  I  am  anxious." 

He  sat  listening  to  her  story  with  rather  a  bored 
look. 

"  It  is  most  unlikely  the  letter  will  turn  up,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  An  Indian  thief  would  throw  it  away,  even 
though,  as  you  say,  it  was  in  a  sealed  official  envelope ; 
he  knows  nothing  of  the  value  of  documents.     But  it  is 


56  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

a  pity  you  kept  it ;  for  that  matter,  had  it.  That  sort 
of  thing  is  a  mistake." 

Something  in  his  tone  made  her  say  quickly,  "  You 
blame  father  —  why  }  You  know  how  he  trusted  me  — 
how  you  — "  She  felt  inclined  to  remind  him  of  his 
own  confidence  in  her,  but  she  refrained.  "  Remember 
I  have  always  —  " 

"  Been  in  the  swim,"  he  suggested. 

"Could  I  help  that.?"  she  asked,  feeling  him  unfair. 
"  What  I  mean  is,  that  every  one,  even  my  husband  —  " 

"  I  have  always  heard  you  do  a  great  deal  for  Sir 
George,"  he  said  nastily,  regretting  his  unfairness  even 
as  he  spoke.  He  need  not  have  done  so,  save  for  his 
own  sake,  since  her  defence  annihilated  him. 

"  As  I  would  have  done  for  you,  Mr.  Raymond." 

"I  —  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  limply,  feeling  him- 
self a  brute.  "This  paper  or  letter,  then,  as  I  under- 
stand it,  would  have  been  a  sort  of  safe-conduct  to 
prevent  the  authorities  rounding  on  Sir  George  after 
the  event,  as  they  are  apt  to  do.  As"  —  a  thought 
seemed  to  strike  him,  and  he  looked  at  her  sharply  — 
"  as  they  did  on  me.  Your  experience  has  been  useful 
to  you.  Lady  Arbuthnot!  " 

She  flushed  up  again.  "  How  could  I  prevent  its 
being  so .-'  I  am  not  a  fool.  But  you  know  quite  well 
I  do  not  come  to  you  on  his  account.  It  is  because  I 
am  so  afraid  of  the  contents  of  that  unfortunate  letter 
leaking  out.     With  this  general  election  going  on  —  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  rose.  "  I  am  no  poli- 
tician, as  I  told  you  ;  but  as  a  personal  matter  —  " 

She  rose  also  and  challenged  him  with  eyes,  voice, 
and  manner.  "  I  do  not  choose  it  to  be  a  personal 
matter.  It  is  more  than  that ;  it  might  concern  the 
prestige,  the  honour  of  our  Government !  Surely  you 
must  still  care  for  that }     You  used  —  " 

He  interrupted  her  with  a  laugh.  "  It  would  be  in  a 
parlous  state  if  it  depended  on  me.  I  don't  trouble  my 
head  about  patriotism  nowadays,  I  assure  you." 

She  came  a  step  nearer,  as  if  to  bar  a  hint  he  gave  of 


AN   UNFORGOTTEN  PAST  5/ 

leaving.  "  Is  that  possible  ?  "  she  asked,  almost  sternly  ; 
"  within  gunshot,  as  we  stand  now,  of  a  place  where 
Englishmen  died  in  hundreds  to  keep  the  hand  of  their 
race  upon  the  plough  of  India." 

The  lightness  had  no  choice  but  to  pass  from  his  face. 

"  Mine  left  it  ten  years  ago,  Lady  Arbuthnot,"  he 
said,  his  voice  matching  hers;  "and  yours,  excuse  me, 
is  not  the  one  to  wile  it  back.  But  for  your  husband's 
sake  —  not  for  yours,  that  past  is  past — I  will  —  " 

She  lost  her  temper  absolutely  then.  "Who  thinks, 
who  wishes  it  otherwise .-'  Can  you  not  understand  my 
motive  in  coming  to  you  .''  " 

"  Perfectly,"  he  said  coolly.  "You  feel  responsible  — 
why,  God  knov,^s !  —  for  the  hash  I  have  made  of  my 
life.  I  speak  from  your  point  of  view,  remember.  Of 
course,  nothing  I  can  say  will  mitigate  this  feeling ;  it 
is  a  habit  you  good  women  have.  Now  I,  as  a  man, 
should  have  thought  that  the  palpable  result  of  my 
going  my  own  way,  instead  of  yours,  would  have  given 
you  the  certainty  of  having  been  right  in  refusing  to 
countenance  it." 

She  did  not  speak  for  a  second,  and  when  she  did 
there  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice.  "  That  doesn't  lessen 
—  the  —  the  pity  of  it,"  she  said,  half  to  herself;  "it  is 
pitiful.  Even  if  you  had  any  one,  wife  or  child  — " 
She  broke  off  and  added  apologetically,  "  One  can 
scarcely  help  regrets." 

Once  more  the  man  in  him  felt  annihilated  by  the 
revelation  of  the  woman  in  her.  "  My  —  my  dear,  kind 
lady,"  he  said,  touched  in  spite  of  himself,  "  I  can  assure 
you  I  get  along  splendidly  all  round.  You're  all  too 
kind.  And  as  for  the  kids,"  he  added  half  nervously, 
for  she  looked  as  if  she  would  cry,  and  he  wished  to 
cheer  her  up,  "  I'm  chums  with  the  lot  of  them.  Jerry, 
for  instance  !  What  a  ripping  little  chap  he  is  —  such 
a  lot  of  go ;  but  he  isn't  a  bit  like  you." 

She  stood  looking  at  him  without  replying  for  a 
moment,  and  the  half-puzzled  expression  which  had 
been  in  her  face  when  she  had  watched  him  and  the 


58  VOICES  IN    THE   NIGHT 

child  standing  hand-in-hand  at  the  racecourse  returned 
to  it.  "  No !  "  she  said.  "  Nor  like  his  father.  He 
has  harked  back  in  face  to  my  mother's  people  —  she 
was  a  distant  cousin  of  your  father's,  you  remember. 
And  in  mind — who  knows  .■'  But  I'm  glad  you  like 
him;  he  returns  the  compUment." 

It  seemed  so,  indeed,  for  Jerry  himself,  appearing 
that  instant,  had  his  hand  tucked  into  Jack  Raymond's 
even  before  he  delivered  his  message,  which  was  to  the 
effect  that  dad  was  wanting  mum  to  go  home.  He 
gabbled  this  through,  in  order  to  say,  with  a  military 
formality  learned,  to  his  great  delight,  from  Captain 
Lloyd,  "Ah,  sir  !  I'm  glad  it's  you  ;  'cos  it  isn't  weally 
dark,  an'  Miss  Dwummond's  weading  the  Spectator,  so 
it's  just  the  time  for  you  to  show  me  the  pwoperest 
places  in  the  Garden  Mound,  please,  as  you  pwomised 
you  would.  I  mean  the  places  where  people  was 
blown  up  —  or  deaded  somehow  !  " 

"  You  bloodthirsty  young  ruffian ! "  laughed  Jack 
Raymond,  feeling  relieved  at  the  interruption.  "  All 
right !  come  along  !  I  promised  to  take  him  round  and 
tell  him  about  the  defence.  Lady  Arbuthnot,"  he  ex- 
plained ;  "  but  perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  find  your 
carriage  for  you  first." 

"  Thanks,"  she  replied  curtly,  "  my  hu.sband  will  do 
that.  Good-night,  Mr.  Raymond.  I  am  sorry  I  was 
not  so  successful  in  my  request  as  —  as  my  son." 

He  stared  after  her  yet  once  more.  Women  were 
inexplicable.  Here  was  this  one  quite  happily  married 
—  he  had  known  that  for  years  —  and  yet  she  would 
have  liked  —  what  the  deuce  would  she  have  liked  .-" 
He  turned  half  impatiently  to  the  child,  and  said, 
"  Come  along,  young  Briton,  and  be  sentimental  over 
the  past !  Come  and  contemplate  the  deeds  of  your 
ancestors  and  make  believe  you're  a  hero.  That's  the 
game !  " 

"  But  I  am  going  to  be  one  when  I'm  growed  up, 
you  know,"  protested  Jerry. 

The  man  paused  and  looked  down  at  the  child.      "  If 


AN  UNFORGOTTEN  PAST  59 

you  get  the  chance,  dear  little  chap,"  he  said  bitterly, 
"but  the  mischief  is  that  what  with  express  trains  and 
telegrams,  you've  seldom  to  do  more  than  you're  told  to 
do.  And  so  most  of  the  C.B.'s  and  V.C.'s  are  given 
for  doing  one's  simple  duty." 

"  My  dad's  a  C.B.,"  commented  the  child  sagely  ; 
"  but  then  he  can  do  his  compound  duties  too.  Can 
you } " 

"  Can  I }  "  echoed  the  man,  and  his  voice  belied  the 
inevitable  smile  on  his  face.  "  Well !  I  don't  know.  I 
expect  I  could,  Jerry  —  if  I  tried." 

So  hand-in-hand  the  two,  boy  and  man,  crossed  the 
carriage-drive  which  lay  between  the  club  and  the  rising 
ground  beyond  it.  Ground  kept  as  a  garden  in  memory 
of  the  deeds  which  had  blossomed  in  its  dust.  For  on 
that  scarce  perceptible  mound,  the  English  flag,  taking 
advantage  of  every  available  inch  to  stand  its  highest, 
had  floated  for  nine  long  months  over  the  rebel  town  of 
Nushapore.  Had  floated  securely,  though  the  hands 
which  held  it  grew  fewer  and  weaker  day  by  day.  Had 
floated  royally,  though  king's  palaces  challenged  it 
from  the  right,  challenged  it  from  the  left. 

And  now,  more  than  forty  years  after,  the  mound  — 
set  thick  with  blossoming  trees  —  stretched  as  a  peace- 
ful lawn  between  those  palaces  still ;  but  the  one  was 
an  English  club  and  the  other  Government  House. 

"  That's  the  gate,  Jerry,"  said  Jack  Raymond,  "where 
Gunner  Smith  asked  the  mutineers  —  they  were  only 
three  feet  from  the  wall,  you  know  —  to  oblige  him 
with  a  pipe  light,  because  he  had  been  so  long  on  duty 
that  he  had  run  short." 

Jerry  laughed  vaingloriously,  uproariously. 

"  That  was  to  cheek  'em,  sir,  wasn't  it,  sir .''  For,  of 
course,  /ie  didn't  care  if  he  never  smoked  no  more,  so 
long  as  he  kept  'em  outside !  Oh  !  isn't  it  just  orful 
nice  .''  "  —  here  he  heaved  a  sigh  of  pure  delight  —  "  and 
now,  please,  I  want  where  boys  like  me  did  sentry,  an' 
where  the  guns  got  wed-hot  and  boomed  off  of  'em- 
selves,  an'  where  every  one  blowed  'emselves  up  like  in 


60  VOICES   IN   THE   NIGHT 

a  stwawbewwy-cweam  smash,  becos'  the  enemy  was 
cweepin',  cweepin'  in,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

The  child's  voice  ran  on,  eager,  joyous,  hopeful,  and 
the  man  was  conscious  of  a  thrill  that  seemed  to  pass 
into  his  own  veins  from  that  little  clasping  hand. 

"  All  in  good  time,  Jerry !  don't  rush  your  fences," 
replied  Jack  Raymond,  and  the  thrill  seemed  to  have 
invaded  his  voice. 

So  across  the  lawns,  and  along  the  winding  walks 
bosomed  in  tall  trees,  where  the  birds  were  twittering 
their  nightly  quarrel  for  the  uppermost  roosting-place, 
those  two,  boy  and  man,  the  present  and  the  future  of 
the  race,  with  its  unforgotten  past  linking  them,  strolled 
hand-in-hand. 

And  the  daylight  lingering  with  the  moonlight  lay 
hand-in-hand  also  ;  lay  softly,  kindly,  upon  all  things. 

"  This  is  the  east  battery,  Jerry,"  said  the  man  in  a 
hushed  voice,  to  match  the  peace  of  the  garden. 
"Campbell  —  he  was  a  relation  of  your  mother's,  by  the 
way,  and  so  a  sort  of  relation  of  mine  —  never  left  it  for 
five  months.  He  is  here  still,  if  it  comes  to  that,  for  he 
was  literally  blown  to  bits  at  last  by  a  shell  he  was  try- 
ing to  throw  back  on  the  enemy.  He'd  done  it  dozens 
of  times  before,  but  this  time  —  was  the  last !  " 

There  was  not  much  to  see.  Only  a  slab  in  the  dim 
grass  with  "  East  Battery  "  cut  upon  it. 

"  Mum  told  me  about  that,"  said  Jerry  in  an  awed 
whisper.  "His  name  was  Gerald,  same  as  mine," — he 
paused  to  look  doubtfully  at  the  face  above  him  —  "  she 
said  it  was  an  eggsample  to  me.  But  I'm  not  goin'  to 
be  blowed  up  first.  My  shells'll  always  burst  just  in  the 
vewy  wightest  places,  bang  in  the  middle  of  the  enemy, 
so  I  can  laugh  at  'em  before  I  dead." 

Jack  Raymond,  passing  on,  felt  a  pang.  "Always  in 
the  very  rightest  places !  "  That  had  been  the  dream  of 
another  boyhood. 

The  sky  was  as  a  pearl  overhead  ;  a  pearl  set  in  a 
darkening  tracery  of  trees.  The  moon  began  to  stretch 
faint  fingers  of  shadow  after  the  retreating  day,  and  still 


AN   UNFORGOTTEX  PAST  6l 

those  two,  man  and  boy,  passed  from  one  immemorial 
deed  to  another,  while  the  small  hand  sent  its  thrill  to 
the  big  one,  so  that  Jack  Raymond  wondered  at  the 
tremor  in  his  voice  as  he  said,  pointing  through  the 
trees  — 

"  And  there's  the  general's  house  with  the  English  flag 
flying  still !  " 

Jerry  stiffened  like  a  young  pointer  on  its  first  covey, 
every  inch  of  him  centred  on  the  grey  tower,  its  flagstaff 
draped  dimly  with  the  royal  ensign,  which  rose  against 
the  sky.     Then,  standing  square,  head  up,  he  saluted. 

"  Mum  told  me  to  do  that  always,  when  I  saw  it,"  he 
explained,  "  because  it's  the  only  place  in  all  the  wide, 
wide  world  where  the  flag  flies  day  and  night,  to  show, 
you  know,  that  it  never  was  hauled  down  —  never  — 
never."  He  heaved  another  sigh  of  satisfaction,  but  his 
face  took  a  puzzled  expression.  "  Only,  you  know,  I've 
been  here  before.  I  weally  have.  I  wemember  it  quite, 
quite  v/ell.  An'  the  guns  was  booming,  an'  they  was 
wanting  to  pull  down  the  flag,  an'  I  wouldn't  let  them." 

Jack  Raymond  looked  down  at  the  child  and  smiled. 
"  You,  or  some  one  of  your  sort,  dear  old  chap ;  and  I'll 
bet  you'd  do  it  again,  wouldn't  you,  Jerry } " 

Jerry  pulled  himself  together  from  the  mysterious 
inheritance  of  the  past.  "  I'm  goin' to,  some  day,"  he 
said  succinctly.  "An'  now,  please,  I  want  where  they 
buried  'em  after  dark.  All  pwoper  wif  surplices  an' 
*  Safe,  safe  home  in  port,'  and  all  that;  but  torches  and 
crack-bang  firings  over  the  walls  —  though  they  was 
deaders  already." 

The  description,  confused  though  it  was  by  excess  of 
picturesqueness,  sent  Jack  Raymond  unerringly  towards 
the  little  cemetery  where  so  many  heroes  rest.  But  ere 
they  reached  the  gate,  a  woman's  figure  showed  upon  a 
side-path. 

"  There's  Miss  Drummond ;  you'll  have  to  go  home 
now,  young  man,"  remarked  Jack  Raymond,  feeling  that 
though  Jerry's  enthusiasm  did  not  bore  him,  Lesley's 
might.     But  Jerry  would  have  no  excuse. 


62  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"Oh  !  "  he  said  confidentially,  '^ she  is  only  a  woman. 
You  tell  her  to  come,  and  she'll  come  all  wight." 

Jack  Raymond  looked  towards  the  springy  step  and 
determined  pose  of  the  head  which  was  approaching 
him  with  alarm  ;  but  Jerry  had  already  run  forward, 
slipped  his  hand  into  the  girl's,  and  said  — 

"  He  says  you're  to  come  too,  because  he  is  going  to 
tell  us  all  about  the  gwaves." 

"  Not  all,"  protested  Jack  Raymond  resignedly  ;  "but 
if  Miss  Drummond  can  spare  us  a  minute,  I'll  show  you 
John  Ellison's." 

The  girl's  face  lit  up.  "  Isn't  that  about  all .?  "  she 
asked  quickly.  "  The  very  name  seems  to  dominate  the 
place  still.  Jdn-Ali-sJidn  !  That's  what  the  natives  call 
him,  your  father  says,  Jerry.  It  means  the  *  Spirit  of 
Kings.'  A  good  name,  isn't  it,  for  the  man  who  held 
this  garden  against  all  comers,  even  starvation  .-*  " 

Her  head  was  up,  her  voice  rang ;  but  the  thrill  did 
not  pass  to  the  man's  heart  from  these  as  it  had  from 
the  clasp  of  that  little  hand,  which  some  day  would  have 
a  man's  grip. 

"  There  was  a  heap  of  bunkum  talked,  though,  about 
the  actual  physical  privations  of  the  mutiny  time ;  they 
had  iced  soda  and  Moselle  cup  on  the  ridge  at  Delhi,  you 
know.  Miss  Drummond,"  he  said,  out  of  pure  contrariety. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  sure  of  that,"  she  began  indig- 
nantly. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  sure  of  a  lot  of  mutiny  tales,"  he 
interrupted;  "but  there's  a  halo  of  romance  on  our  side 
and  a  shadow  of  fear  on  theirs,  which  plays  the  deuce 
with  abstract  truth.  I  wish  we  could  forget  the  whole 
business." 

"  Forget !     Forget  our  glorious  past !  " 

"Was  it  so  glorious.''  I  asked  Budlu  once"  —  he 
pointed  to  a  white  ghostlike  figure  which  had  begun  to 
follow  them  from  the  cemetery  gate  —  "how  a  mere 
handful  of  us  here  kept  their  thousands  at  bay.  Budlu 
is  supposed  to  have  been  inside,  during  the  siege,  as  a 
child's  bearer  —  that's  why  they  made  him  caretaker; 


AI^    UNFORGOTTF.y  PAST  63 

but  I've  reason  to  believe  he  was  outside  —  not  that  it 
matters  now  !  Well,  his  answer  was  :  '  The  sahibs  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  was  the  dead  women  and  the 
dead  babies.  P^very  one  knows  that  the  strength  of  the 
strongest  man  is  water  before  the  ghost  of  a  mother 
and  child.'  " 

They  had  reached  the  slope  of  that  gentle  hollow 
where,  even  in  their  bitterest  stress,  the  living  had  crept 
obstinately,  under  cover  of  night,  to  lay  their  dead  to 
rest  in  the  shadow  of  the  deserted  church,  and  he 
paused  to  point  downwards  to  a  tall  cypress  and  add, 
"There  is  John  Ellison's  grave." 

Lesley  paused  too.  Calm  and  still  in  the  moonlight, 
the  grassy  slopes,  set  with  flowers  and  blossoming  shrubs, 
seemed  to  centre  on  that  hollow  of  heroes'  graves,  as 
they,  in  their  turn,  centred  round  the  plain*  plinth,  with 
its  marble  slab  vmder  the  cypress  tree. 

There  were  but  two  words  on  it  —  "John  Ellison  "  — 
but  they  filled  the  eye,  the  heart,  the  brain. 

Lesley  Drummond  stood  looking  at  them  silently, 
and  Jack  Raymond  stood  watching  her,  apjaroving  her 
silence.  But  Jerry,  whose  round  childish  face  had  a 
curious  ghostly  look  on  it,  as  if  he  were  seeing  visions, 
went  creeping  on  round  the  plinth,  his  blue  eyes  wide ; 
a  stealthy  little  figure  dreaming  of  torches  and  deaders 
and  crack-bang  firings  over  walls.  But  he  was  back  in 
a  second,  his  face  eager,  startled. 

"Oh,  if  you  please  —  he's  quite,  quite  shot  —  lyin' 
there  close  by.     Hadn't  we  better  buwy  him  }  " 

"  Bury  him  ?  who  ? "  asked  Lesley ;  but  Jack  Raymond 
had  grasped  the  child's  meaning,  and  was  passing  to  the 
other  side  of  the  plinth  to  see  for  himself.  Then  he 
looked  up  from  the  figure  of  a  man  which  lay  on  its 
back,  its  head  supported  on  the  first  step  of  the  plinth, 
asked  a  question  of  Budlu,  the  caretaker  in  Hindustani, 
and  finally  turned  reassuringly  to  Lesley. 

"  It  is  only  an  idle  sweep  of  a  loafer.  Miss  Drummond, 
who  has  rather  a  queer  story.  Stay!  I'll  wake  him  — 
Budlu  reports  him   sober  —  and  he  will  tell  the  story 


64  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

nimself,  I've  no  doubt."  As  he  spoke,  a  vigorous  shake 
roused  the  sleeper  to  an  oath,  then  to  a  stare,  finally  to 
a  bland  smile  as  he  rose. 

"  Bin  overtook  by  slumber,  sir,"  said  a  rich,  mellow 
voice  as  (possibly  in  evasion  of  more  salient  faults  in  his 
personality)  the  owner  of  it  began  to  brush  away  the 
dust  and  dry  twigs  which  clung  to  his  dirty  drill-clothing. 
"  The  w'ich  we  all  of  us  shall  be  w'en  our  time  comes  to 
lie  within  the  silent  toomb — b."  He  prolonged  the  final 
syllable  into  a  reminiscent  humming  of  a  funeral  hymn 
until  his  task  was  done.  Then  he  looked  up,  and  showed 
in  the  moonlight  the  face  of  a  man  about  forty,  smooth 
shaven,  of  the  bulldog  type,  with  the  mobile  lips  of  a 
born  comedian. 

"  I  done  my  level  best  with  the  job  you  giv'  me  down 
country,  sir,"  he  continued  affably,  yet  with  a  furtive 
apology  lurking  beneath  his  assurance,  "  but  it  done  no 
sort  of  dooty  by  me.  I  gone  down  two  stone  in  a  six 
weeks  with  them  pestilential  chills,  so  w'ot  with  plague 
follerin'  famine  like  the  prayer-book,  sir,  I  made  bold  to 
cut  back  to  Nushapore.  I  'adn't  a  grave  bespoke  there, 
sir,  as  I  'ave  here ;  an'  so  I  didn't  want  no 

'Death's  bright  Angel  speakin'  in  a  chord  a — ga — ain.'" 

Once  more' that  prolongation  of  the  final  syllable  was 
followed  by  an  appropriate  tune. 

"  If  you  don't  mend  your  ways,  my  man,"  said  Jack 
Raymond  severely,  "you'll  have  no  grave  bespoke  here 
either.     The  authorities  won't  allow  —  " 

"  Can't  'elp  'emselves,  sir,"  interrupted  the  loafer, 
touching  the  battered  billycock  hat  which  he  had  re- 
sumed after  a  careful  dusting.  "  It's  the  Queen's  regu- 
lations, sir,  that  them  as  went  through  the  siege  may 
wait  for  the  las'  trump  in  an  'ero's  grave  beside  'is  if 
they  choose.  An',  Lord  love  you !  I  do  choose,  for 
they  chris'en  me  in  token  I  shouldn't  fear  the  very  day 
V  died."     He  laid  his  hand  on  the  slab. 

"That  was  why  they  called  you  John  ElHson,  wasn't 
it .'' "  asked  Jack  Raymond,  with  a  side-look  at  Lesley, 
which  the  loafer  appraised,  for  he  replied  coolly  — 


AN  UNFORGOTTEN  PAST  65 

"Yes,  m'lady!  Mr.  Raymon',  'e  know  the  story 
correc' !  My  father  died  o'  the  drink  a  few  days  afore 
we  come  into  the  Carding  Mound,  an'  my  mother  — 
savin'  your  presence,  m'lady,  she  didn't  'ave  bin  to  church 
with  'im  through  'er  real  'usband  'aving  deserted  'er  or 
died,  cruel  uncertain  —  she  popped  off  a  few  days  after  I, 
so  to  speak,  popped  in.  That  was  nigh  on  a  nine-months' 
sequent.  So  I  was  through  the  siege,  m'lady,  from  the 
beginnin',  an'  'avin'  no  one  to  promise  an'  vow  when 
they  Holy  baptismed  me  the  day  'e  died,  they  called  me 
John  Ellison.  And  an  uncommon  good  name  it  is, 
m'lady,  though  I've  took  it  to  a  sight  o'  queer  places 
since ;  for  I  seen  a  deal  o'  hfe  at  'ome  an'  abroad,  as 
the  sayin'  is.  Bin  in  a  surplus  chore  singin'  'ymns  seven 
year,  m'lady ;  an'  pickin'  up  sticks  for  a  Aunt  Sally 
two.     Then  I  served  my  way  out  to  see 

'  —  the  place  where  I  was  born ' "  — 

he  paused  for  a  faint  humming  —  "  an'  Mr.  Raymon', 
good  gentleman,  'e  'ave  put  me  in  to  a  many  jobs,  but 
only  local  demons ;  they  ain't  some'ow  bin  no  sort  of 
permanent.     An' 

'  So  the  world  goes  round  and  round 
Until  our  life  with  sleep  is  crowned — d — d.'  " 

He  was  fairly  afloat  this  time  with  his  rich  mellow  voice, 
when  Jack  Raymond  bid  him  shut  up  and  not  play  the  fool. 
Why  couldn't  he  stick  to  work  when  it  was  given  him  .-* 

The  jauntiness  disappeared  in  a  curiously  dignified 
dejection.  "  By  the  Lord  '00  made  me,  sir,"  he  said  con- 
tritely, "I  dun'no.  I  begins  well ;  then  —  I  —  I  don't ! 
I  git  on  the  lap  foolin'  round  them  bazaars,  vmtil  I  'aven't 
a  feather  ter  fly  with.  Then  'e  begin  to  dror  me  to 
'im — m."  He  paused  again  to  indicate  the  slab,  and  the 
final  syllable  merged  into  the  whole  first  line  of  "  They 
grew  in  beauty  side  by  side."  "Beg  parding,  sir,"  he 
went  on,  anticipating  reproof,  "  but  the  warblin'  fetches 
me  'ome  so  often,  w'ot  with  penny  gaffs  an'  such  like, 
that  it  gits  a  continooal  hold  on  me  too  frequent." 


66  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

"You'll  lay  hold  of  nothing  else  soon,"  retorted  Jack 
Raymond.     "  You're  out  of  work  now,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Jes'  so,  sir;  ready  for  active  service." 

"  And  I've  a  great  mind  to  let  you  find  it  for  yourself. 
However,  you're  in  the  Strangers'  Home,  I  suppose,  as 
usual .'' " 

"As  usooal,  sir!"  came  the  cheerful  reply,  and 
as  they  passed  on,  the  mellow  rich  tenor  followed 
them  in  a  florid  rendering  of  "  Home,  sweet  Home."  It 
echoed  through  the  hollow  of  heroes,  over  the  grave-set 
slope  where  the  descendants  of  those  who  held  the  fort 
are  allowed  burial,  and  so  passed  with  the  little  party  to 
the  gate.  Here  Budlu,  who  had  followed  all  the  time, 
ghostlike,  silent,  made  some  petition  in  Urdu,  to  which 
Jack  Raymond  replied  with  a  smile. 

"  He  said  something  about  'Jdn-Ali-s/idn,''  didn't  he  .-*  " 
asked  Lesley.  "  You  must  excuse  the  curiosity,  but  I  am 
naturally  anxious  to  learn  everything  about  India." 

"A  most  laudable  ambition,  I'm  sure,"  he  replied 
drily.  "  Budlu  only  wanted  to  know.  Miss  Drummond, 
if  Jd)i-Ali-shdu  was  going  back  to  his  grave  to-night ; 
for  if  not,  it  would  be  better  to  leave  the  cemetery  gate 
open  —  he  usually  locks  it  at  sundown." 

"Jdn-Ali-shdn  !  "  she  echoed  aghast.  "  He  can't  call 
that  wretched  creature  —  he  can't  think — " 

Jack  Raymond  interrupted  her.  "  I  don't  know  very 
much  about  the  possibilities  or  impossibilities  of  India, 
though  I've  lived  in  it  for  twenty  years ;  but  I  do  hap- 
pen to  know  that  half  Nushapore  has  a  sneaking  idea 
that  the  wretched  creature  is,  well,  a  sort  of  emanation  of 
the  great  John  Ellison.  He  has  the  same  strain,  you  see, 
of  sheer  devilry,  pluck,  ability,  call  it  what  you  will  —  the 
something  that  makes  its  mark  on  Eastern  people.  And 
they  think  he  comes  for  revenge,  because,  as  you  heard 
him  say,  he  is  in  such  a  mortal  funk  of  being  cheated 
out  of  '  an  'ero's  grave  '  if  he  dies  away  from  Nushapore, 
that  he  always  comes  back  when  there's  trouble  about. 
The  natives  are  quick  to  notice  such  things.  Well,  he 
may  have  his  tens  of  thousands  this  year." 


AN  UNFORGOTTEN  PAST  6/ 

"  You  mean  that  the  plague  will  come  ?  " 

"  And  a  row,  too,  if  we  aren't  careful." 

Jerry's  hand  tightened  on  Jack  Raymond's.  "  A  weal 
wow,  sir,  with  sieges  and  everything  }  " 

"  Sieges  ?  Well,  I  don't  know.  What  do  you  want 
sieges  for,  young  man  ?  " 

The  child's  face  showed  confident.  "  Because  I  want 
an  'ero's  grave  of  my  vewy  own,  like  what  that  man's 
got.  An'  it  wouldn't  be  dog-in-the-mangery,  like  two 
pieces  of  cake,  Miss  Dwummond,  'cos  I  could  lend  it  to 
other  people  till  I  weally  did  want  it ;  but  if  it  was  my 
vewy  own,  you  see"  —  he  hesitated,  then  a  sudden  com- 
prehension seemed  to  come  to  him  —  "  then  I  could  fight 
all  the  vewy  biggest  big  boys  wifout  caring.  For  I 
could  pop  into  my  gwave  an'  laugh  at  'em,  even  if  I 
was  licked  —  'cos  —  'cos  I  should  have  Vv'on  weally  — 
shouldn't  I,  sir  .-'  " 

The  moon  shone  clear  on  the  ruins  before  them,  and 
all  around  them,  hidden  in  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  lay 
the  little  world  which  forty  years  before  had  defied  a 
big  one.  Through  the  still  silence  came  only  that  twit- 
tering of  birds  fighting  for  a  roosting-place,  until  the 
man's  voice  said  evenly  — 

"  It  is  a  question,  Jerry,  '  /wzu  far  high  failure  over- 
leaps the  bound  of  lozv  successes'  Ask  Miss  Drum- 
mond  ;  I  don't  know." 

The  answering  woman's  voice  came  swiftly.  "  Surely 
this  is  no  place  for  an  Englishman  to  talk  of  failure! " 

He  turned  sharply.  So  this  girl  was  at  it  now ;  she 
too  wanted  to  rouse  him  ;  she  had  heard  the  story  —  or 
part  of  it. 

"  I  almost  wish  it  were,"  he  answered  bitterly  ;  "  then 
we  might  forget  it.  But  the  glory  of  it  gets  to  our 
heads  —  we  come  back  to  it  again  and  again." 

He  stopped  abruptly,  for  a  tenor  voice  rose  in  sweet 
undertones  upon  that  twittering  of  birds  — 

'*  There  is  a  green  hill  far  away. 
Outside  a  city  wall." 


68  VOICES  IN-   THE  NIGHT 

The  singing  and  the  faint  crush  of  gravel  ceased 
together,  as  the  singer,  passing  them,  drew  up  and 
touched  the  old  billycock  hat. 

"Beg  parding,  sir,"  said  John  Ellison,  loafer,  "but 
p'r'aps  you'd  care  to  'ear  there  was  a  man  dead  o'  plague 
taken  out  o'  the  train  I  come  in  this  mornin'." 

"  Thanks,"  replied  Jack  Raymond.  "  I  know  there 
have  been  several  isolated  cases." 

"  Jes'  so,  sir ;  not  as  there's  so  much  isolation,  not  to 
speak  of,  in  them  third-class  cattle-pens,"  assented  the 
mellow  voice ;  and  as  the  footstep  passed  on,  it  kept 
time  to  the  refrain  of 

"Wait  for  the  waggon,  and  we'll  all  take  a  ride." 

"  I  expect  we  shall,"  remarked  Jack  Raymond  grimly, 
and  his  mind  reverted  to  Grace  Arbuthnot  and  her  hus- 
band. There  might  be  need  for  that  safe-conduct  ere 
long.  Well,  they  must  manage  things  as  best  they 
^could;  he  wouldn't. 

"  Oh  !  I  do  hope  there'll  be  a  wow,  a  weal  wow ! " 
came  Jerry's  prayerful  voice. 


CHAPTER   V 

SHARK    LANE 

There  was  no  quainter  spot  in  all  Nushapore  than 
Shark  Lane  (as  the  road  near  the  public  offices  where 
the  lawyers  congregated  was  generally  called),  though 
at  first  sight  it  seemed  to  differ  little  from  its  neighbours. 
Broad^  white,  its  tree-set  margins  were  studded  with 
the  usual  inconsequent-looking  stucco  gate-posts  of  an 
Indian  station,  which,  guiltless  of  any  fence,  serve  to 
mark  the  short  carriage-drives  leading  back  to  the 
houses. 

And  these  again  —  colour-washed  pink,  yellow,  or 
blue  —  were  even  as  other  houses  of  the  second-class. 
Yet  it  did  not  need  the  placards  on  those  same  gate- 
posts, announcing  that  "  Mr.  Lala  Ram  Nath  "  or  "  Mr. 
Syyed  Abdul  Rahman,"  "  barristers-at-law,"  lived  within, 
to  tell  the  passer-by  that  the  inhabitants  were  not 
European. 

To  begin  with,  somewhere  or  another,  there  was 
almost  sure  to  be  a  grass  hurdle  visible  —  the  grass 
hurdle  which  in  India  does  the  duty  of  a  hoarding  and 
ensures  privacy.  Indeed,  a  knowledgable  eye  could 
infer  the  exact  degree  to  which  the  social  life  within 
was  at  variance  with  the  Western  architecture  in  which 
it  dwelt  by  the  number  and  position  of  such  hurdles. 
Two  or  three,  merely  blocking  in  an  arch  of  verandah, 
being  indicative  of  a  lingering  dislike  to  publicity  in  some 
"new  woman"  ;  a  dozen  or  more,  screening  in  a  patch 
of  garden  ground,  showing  the  rigorous  seclusion  of 
the  old. 

True,  in  not  a  few  cases,  this  sign  was  absent,  but 
then  a  nameless  air  of  utter  desolation,  a  blank  stare 

69 


70 


VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 


out  on  the  world,  told  its  tale  of  a  keener  quarrel  still  — 
of  family  ties,  family  life,  lost  absolutely  in  the  chase 
after  Western  ways.  Western  ideas.  In  such  houses 
the  only  sign  of  life  from  dawn  to  dusk,  barring  a 
furtive  wielder  of  a  grass  broom  raising  clouds  of  dust 
at  stated  intervals,  would  be  the  rickety  hired  carriage, 
like  a  green  box  on  wheels,  which,  every  morning  and 
every  evening,  would  turn  out  and  in  between  those 
inconsequent  gate-posts,  conveying  a  solitary  young 
man  and  a  pile  of  law-books  to  and  from  the  courts. 

Such  a  very  solitary-looking  young  man,  that  the 
question  sprang  inevitably  to  the  spectator's  lips,  "  Is 
the  game  worth  the  candle  ?  " 

There  were  others,  besides  spectators,  in  Shark  Lane 
who  asked  the  question,  and  were  not  sure  of  the 
answer.  Miriam-bibi,  Hafiz  Ahmad's  wife,  for  instance, 
who,  as  Aunt  Khojee  put  it,  had  been  taken  away  to 
live  as  a  mem,  felt  it  was  not.  Of  course  it  was  dignified 
to  eat  in  one  room,  sit  in  another,  and  sleep  in  a  third, 
as  if  this  trinity  of  habit  were  Heaven's  decree.  Then, 
undoubtedly,  small  bronze  feet  did  look  entrancing  in 
small  bronze  high-heeled  shoes.  But  when  there  could 
be  no  novel-reading,  no  writing  of  notes,  no  arranging 
of  flowers  and  playing  of  the  piano,  and  when  you  were 
accustomed  to  eat  and  sleep  when  the  fancy  took  you  1 
Then  one  room  was  quite  sufficient  in  which  to  be 
dull  and  solitary,  since  there  were  no  friends  or  relations 
near  to  come  in  for  a  gossip. 

Besides,  it  was  undeniable  that  the  pretty  bronze 
shoes  pinched  the  toes  that  were  accustomed  to  greater 
freedom. 

Therefore  it  was  a  joy,  indeed,  when,  on  Sundays, 
the  green  box  on  wheels,  instead  of  taking  Hafiz  Ahmad 
to  court,  took  her  back  to  the  close,  familiar  city ;  to  the 
evil-smelling  bazaars  below,  and  the  scented,  sensual 
woman's  life  above,  so  full  of  laughter  and  quarrelling, 
so  full  of  sunshine  and  seclusion,  with  its  unending 
suggestion  of  sex. 

Full  also,  to  Miriam's  intense  delight,  of  betel-chewing 


SHARK  LANE  7 1 

and  tobacco-smoking ;  for  though  Hafiz  Ahmad  per- 
mitted neither  in  Sliark  Lane,  he  never  noticed  the 
resultant  signs  of  either  on  her  return.  So  proving 
himself  possessed  of  that  master's  degree  in  the  art  of 
compromise  which  Young  India  has  to  take  before 
attempting  even  a  bachelor's  in  any  other. 

For  even  Miriam  found  single-mindedness  impossible 
in  Shark  Lane,  and  her  eulogiums  on  her  new  life  had 
to  be  so  strenuous  in  the  city  that  even  simple  Aunt 
Khojee  remarked  that  '' tvise  hens  never  cackled  over 
their  own  nests  7tnless  they  were  empty  !  " 

On  Monday  mornings  too,  after  her  debauch  in  city 
ways,  Miriam  found  it  necessary  to  be  aggressively 
European.  She  would  even  go  so  far  as  to  eat  the 
lightly-boiled  egg  of  civilisation  for  her  breakfast  —  the 
^gg  which  calls  for  salt-cellars  and  spoons,  in  other 
words  for  refinement  and  luxury.  And  when  her  hus- 
band had  departed  in  the  green  box  with  his  law  books, 
she  would  yawn  dutifully  in  all  three  rooms,  till  nature 
could  no  more.  So  she  would  send  surreptitiously  for 
the  cook's  wife  and  baby,  and  adjourn  to  a  hurdle- 
closed  verandah  where  her  visitors  could  be  properly 
screened  from  the  new  world.  Since,  let  the  master  do 
as  he  chose,  there  would  have  been  noses  on  the  green 
in  the  servant's  house  had  its  womenkind  allowed  the 
tips  of  theirs  to  be  seen  by  strangers  ! 

So  Miriam  would  be  comparatively  content  till  the 
advent  of  the  green  box  sent  her  back  to  three  rooms, 
and  a  pair  of  bronze  slippers. 

On  the  whole,  this  double  Hfe  of  hers  was  a  very  fair 
example  of  most  lives  in  Shark  Lane,  where,  despite  all 
the  high  aspirations  after  truth  and  reality,  it  was  quite 
impossible  to  reach  either;  since  every  one  was  quite 
aware  that  they  were  trying  an  experiment,  and  that  a 
doubtful  one. 

This  v/as  the  case  more  especially  in  the  last  house  in 
Shark  Lane,  just  where  it  merged  into  the  more  fashion- 
able River  Road.  Here,  at  the  corner,  a  very  decora- 
tive pair  of  posts  announcing  that  Mr,  Chris  Davenant 


72  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

lived  within,  stood  cheek  by  jowl  beside  a  similar  pair 
with  Mr.  Lucanaster's  name  upon  them ;  and  though 
one  of  the  two  houses  was  screened,  it  was  screened  by 
trellises  and  creepers,  behind  which  a  pale  pink  dress 
could  often  be  seen  fluttering  in  company  with  the 
owner  of  the  other  house.  For  Mrs.  Chris  Davenant 
claimed  her  full  share  of  Western  liberty. 

So  large  a  share,  indeed,  that  one  morning  a  few  days 
after  the  races,  Krishn  Davenund,  as  Shark  Lane  per- 
sisted in  calling  him,  sat  looking  hopelessly  at  his 
untouched  breakfast ;  in  this  case  also  that  lightly- 
boiled  egg  of  civilisation.  It  stood  in  a  correct  silver 
egg-stand  beside  a  charming  arrangement  of  ferns  and 
flowers ;  for  Miss  Genevieve  Fuller,  now  Mrs.  Chris, 
had  been  that  curious  product  of  latter-day  London,  a 
vulgar  girl  of  good  taste.  As  she  had  walked  along  the 
streets,  her  fringe  delicately  wanton  beneath  the  white 
veil  whose  black  spots  were  never  permitted  to  rest  in 
unbecoming  places,  her  cold  blue  eyes  had  settled  uner- 
ringly on  all  the  daintiest  creations  in  the  shop  windows. 
And  she  would  pause  before  a  hand-painted  sortie  de 
bal  or  a  belaced  silk  undergarment,  and  say  with  equal 
frankness  to  her  companion,  male  or  female,  "  My ! 
that  would  give  poor  little  me  a  chance,  wouldn't  it.-' " 

Even  some  of  the  third-rate  young  men  from  the  city, 
over  whom  she  had  wielded  a  cheap  empire  at  her 
mother's  boarding-house  down  the  Hammersmith  Road, 
had  found  such  remarks  reminiscent  of  the  princess 
from  whose  pretty  lips  toads  fell  instead  of  pearls,  but 
Krishn  Davenund,  student  at  the  Middle  Temple,  did 
not  know  his  Mother  Goose.  Having  an  all  too  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  the  poets,  however,  the  super- 
ficial refinement  of  the  girl,  seen  against  the  background 
of  the  only  English  life  he  knew,  had  made  him  think 
of  the  Lady  in  Comus ;  for  he  could  have  no  standard 
save  that  of  books. 

She  looked  dainty  enough  for  any  heroine's  part  even 
now,  after  eighteen  months'  disillusionment,  as  she  stood 
before  him,  in  a  paucity  of  pink  muslin  neglige  (which 


SHARK  LANE  "JT, 

had  mostly  run  to  frills)  and  a  plentitude  of  powder.  She 
had  an  open  note  in  one  hand,  a  half-smoked  Turkish  cigar- 
ette—  of  Mr.  Lucanaster's  importing  — in  the  other,  and 
a  rather  bored  good-nature  on  her  face  as  she  looked  at 
the  man  she  had  married  because  her  good  taste  had 
told  her  the  truth,  namely,  that  he  was  better-looking 
and  better-bred  than  any  of  her  other  admirers. 

It  had  been  a  hideous  mistake,  of  course ;  but  she 
was  shrev/d  enough  to  see  that  the  shock  of  finding,  on 
his  return  to  India,  that  there  was  literally  no  place  for 
him  in  it  had  been  quite  as  painful  to  her  husband  as 
to  herself.  So  she  exonerated  him  of  blame,  with  a  sort 
of  contemptuous  pity  and  an  absolute  lack  of  sympathy. 
It  was  nothing  to  her,  for  instance,  that,  apart  from  the 
temporal  loss  of  finding  himself  only  the  son  of  a 
Hindoo  widow  who  had  reverted  to  the  most  bigoted 
austerity  on  her  husband's  death,  instead  of  the  son  of 
a  man  high  up  in  Government  service,  whose  position 
had  made  unorthodoxy  tolerable  to  relations  and  friends 
alike,  he  should  have  come  back  to  find  a  change  in 
himself,  to  feel  a  wild  revolt  against  the  renewed  con- 
tact with  things  which  he  had,  literally,  left  behind  him 
five  years  before.  The  things  themselves  were  too  hope- 
lessly, incredibly  trivial  and  childish  for  her  to  do  any- 
thing but  laugh  at  them,  so  he  had  soon  ceased  even  to 
mention  them ;  though  they  meant  far  more  to  him. 

Despite  the  mission  school  training  which  is  the  foun- 
dation culture  of  nearly  all  young  India,  his  religion  was 
a  mere  ethical  sense,  an  emotional  yielding  to  the  attrac- 
tion of  everything  to  which  the  epithet  "  Higher"  could 
be  applied  —  mathematics  and  morals  alike.  And  the 
giving-in  to  the  disgusting  rites  necessary  before  he  could 
re-enter  native  society  on  equal  terms  with  those,  even, 
who  were  of  lower  caste  than  himself,  had  seemed  to 
him  degrading.  So,  despite  his  mother's  prayers  and 
the  advice  of  other  men  who,  in  like  position,  had  pur- 
chased comfort  by  acquiescence,  he  had  refused  to  be 
made  clean  on  the  offered  terms.  With  this  result,  that 
the  only  familiar  touch  left  to  him  was  that  which  this 


74  VOICES  LV   THE  NIGHT 

woman  in  the  demi-mondaine  pink  neglig6  laid  on  his 
shoulder  as,  after  a  time,  she  flung  the  note  down  on 
the  table,  and  with  a  tolerant  laugh  paused  beside  him 
on  her  way  from  the  room. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Chris  !  "  she  said  cheerfully.  "You 
can't  be  expected  to  understand,  of  course,  so  I'm  not 
really  angry.  It  is  all  right,  old  man.  Heaps  of  Eng- 
lish women  do  that  sort  of  thing ;  and  I'm  going  to,  any- 
how, so  it's  no  good  fussing." 

He  made  no  reply.  He  seemed,  even  to  himself,  to 
have  nothing  to  say ;  nothing  that  could  be  said,  at  any 
rate,  since  the  fierce  claim  for  silence  and  submission 
(even  if  it  entailed  the  disposal  of  a  corpse !)  which  he 
had  inherited  from  his  fathers,  had  to  be  smothered. 
So  he  only  stared  at  the  note,  which  lay  face  uppermost. 
It  began  "  Dearest  Jenny"  ;  and  Jie  called  his  wife  Viva  ! 

The  difference  of  style  epitomised  the  situation,  since 
she  preferred  the  Jenny  ;  it  reminded  her  of  bank  clerks 
and  the  top  of  the  Hammersmith  omnibus.  He  realised 
this  now,  for  he  was  no  fool ;  only  a  reader  of  books,  a 
believer  in  theories,  a  dreamer  of  dreams,  who,  in  the 
almost  brutal  blaze  of  an  Indian  sun,  had  awakened,  not 
to  realities  —  that  was  impossible  to  one  who  still  had 
no  guide  save  books  —  but  to  a  new  attempt  at  dreams. 
One  which  made  him  say  pompously,  after  the  fashion 
in  novels,  "  I  do  not  wish  it.  Viva ;  and  you  will  please 
to  remember  that  I  am  your  husband." 

His  English,  barring  a  faintly  foreign  intonation,  was 
perfect ;  but  his  wife  laughed. 

"  Don't,  Chris  !  It  doesn't  suit  the  part.  Besides,  we 
were  only  married  at  the  registrar's.  So  if  you  want  a 
wife  of  that  sort,  Lucanaster  says  you  can  marry  one, 
if  I  don't  object.  I've  been  thinking  about  it,  and  I  don't 
think  I  should —  " 

He  stood  up  and  threw  his  hands  out  passionately 
ere  covering  his  face  with  them  ;  and  the  action,  utterly 
un-English  as  it  was,  suited  him  better  than  his  previous 
calm. 

"It  —  it's  a  lie  to  begin  with,"  he   cried   hoarsely. 


SHARK  LANE  75 

"And  even  if  it  weren't — I  won't  have  it  said  —  it  —  it 
makes  me  lose  myself." 

She  drew  back  a  bit  and  looked  at  him.  "  You've 
done  that  already,  Chris,  and  so've  I,"  she  said  calmly. 
"  Now  don't  interrupt,  please  ;  I've  been  fizzling  for  this 
talk  the  last  month,  for  we  shall  rub  along  together  so 
much  better  when  we  thoroughly  understand  each  other. 
So,  I'm  not  going  to  pretend  any  more,  Chris  !  It  doesn't 
work.  I  tried  it  at  first  because  —  well!  because  you 
mean  well,  and  I  like  to  make  things  comfy  while  I  can. 
But  I'm  sick  of  Shark  Lane.  Some  of  the  men  wouldn't 
be  bad,  if  they  weren't  so  awfully  high-toned  —  that's 
what's  the  matter  with  you,  Chris!  —  but  the  women 
beat  me.  I  went  to  see  that  little  fool  Hafiz  Ahmad's 
wife  yesterday,  because  I'm  a  good-natured  fool  myself 
and  she  said  she  was  dull,  and  you  asked  me ;  and  as  I 
say,  I  like  things  comfy.  Well !  she  wanted  me  to  play 
old  maid,  and  the  cards  were  —  oh!  filthy!  That  fin- 
ished me.  Of  course  it  was  only  a  trifle,  but  it  did  the 
trick.  I've  chucked.  I  won't  play  the  game  any  more, 
Chris.  I  am  going  my  own  way ;  and  if  you  want  to 
see  Shark  Lane  here,  I  shall  be  somewhere  else.  You 
needn't  bother  or  fuss.  I  can  take  care  of  myself  per- 
fectly —  I  went  about  London  a  lot,  you  know.  Besides, 
doesn't  it  stand  to  reason  that  I'm  a  better  judge  of  what 
an  English  lady  can  do  than  you  are .''  Why !  I  might 
as  well  try  and  teach  you  the  etiquette  of  those  disgust- 
ing temples  where  your  precious  stay-at-home  women 
worship  in  —  in  the  altogetJicr  !  "  She  giggled  modestly, 
and  then,  seeing  his  face,  gave  him  a  final  pat.  "  Cheer 
up,  Chris!  I'm  sure  you  could  marry  one  —  a  cousin  or 
something  —  if  you  tried." 

He  interrupted  her  with  a  listless,  nerveless  dignity. 
"  You  seem  to  think  it  all  pretence,  but  I  couldn't  go 
back  to  the  old  ways  ;  this  —  this  has  meant  more  to  me, 
than  that  —  "  his  lips  quivered  as  if  with  coming  tears, 
he  had  to  pull  himself  together  visibly.  "  For  the  rest," 
he  went  on  drearily,  "  I  am  not  quite  so  ignorant  as  you 
deem  me.     One  reads  of  —  of  this  sort  of  situation,  and 


'j6  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

I  can  shape  my  course  as  other  men  have  shaped  theirs ; 
only  —  only  do  not  try  my  patience  too  far." 

He  meant  the  last  in  all  seriousness,  but  neither  the 
thought  nor  the  words  were  his  own ;  and  the  pathos  of 
this  despairing  clutch  on  book-knowledge  being,  of  course, 
lost  on  her  commonplace  vulgarity,  she  laughed  once  more. 

"  Why,  Chris !  you've  got  that  as  pat  as  pat !  quite 
the  injured  hub  in  domestic  drama.  Goody  me!  to 
think  I  might  be  going  down  still  on  the  top  of  the  dear 
old  red  'bus  to  the  mouth  of  the  pit  on  a  first  night ! 
Well,  that's  over,  so  we  must  just  both  be  as  chirpy  as 
we  can.  Good-bye,  Chris !  I've  got  to  dress,  for  Lucan- 
aster's  coming  for  me  in  half  an  hour.  And  don't  expect 
me  till  you  see  me.  They  did  talk  of  tents  out,  a  dance, 
and  a  regular  night  of  it.  You  really  needn't  fuss,  Chris ; 
you  cajit  understand,  you  see." 

When  she  had  gone,  he  sat  staring  helplessly  at  the 
boiled  ^gg,  as  if  he  expected  something  to  hatch  out  of 
it.  Even  thought  forsook  him,  for  the  first  to  come  was 
that  this  woman  was  his  wife.  Wife !  the  word  con- 
jured up  such  a  different  idea  in  the  hereditary  expe- 
rience which  inevitably  underlay  all  things  in  him,  that 
he  could  go  no  further  in  bewilderment. 

So,  in  the  effort  to  escape  from  the  thraldom  of  the 
old  wisdom,  which  such  as  he  have  to  make  so  often, 
he  took  up  the  newspaper  which  lay  beside  him,  telling 
himself  passionately  that  the  old  order  had  changed, 
that  hfe  held  more  than  his  fathers  had  dreamt  of.  Yet 
even  as  he  told  himself  this,  the  burden  of  doubt  which 
such  as  he  have  to  bear  came  upon  him,  a  sense  of  un- 
reality, even  in  himself,  closed  round  him. 

Unreal !     Unreal !     Unreal ! 

The  word  typed  itself  on  the  columns  of  the  Voice  of 
India  as  he  read  them.  The  paper  was  the  recognised 
organ  of  his  class,  the  exponent  of  its  desires,  its  beliefs. 
Yet  here  even  that  word  pursued  him.  Here  on  the 
first  page  was  a  leader  stigmatising  the  temporary 
withdrawal  of  independent  powers  from  the  Municipal 
Committee  as  an  unwarrantable  piece  of  tyranny.     Un- 


SHARK  LANE  77 

v/arrantable !  Was  it  possible  for  any  sane  man  to  call 
it  so,  knowing,  as  all  knew,  the  grievous  tale  of  neglect 
and  wrongdoing  in  that  Committee  ?  Was  it  possible, 
even  apart  from  that,  for  any  wise  man  not  to  see  that 
with  plague  clamouring  for  an  entrance,  the  good  of  the 
many  claimed  a  more  energetic  sanitary  reform  than  the 
Committee  seemed  able  or  willing  to  introduce  ? 

And  as  for  the  hints  thrown  out  that  the  newly-pub- 
lished plague  regulations  were  but  a  sop,  a  blind,  hid- 
ing a  very  different  policy  ;  what  then  ?  Was  it  possible 
for  any  government  to  do  more  than  legislate  for  the 
present  f  Who  but  fools  imagined  that  it  could  or  would 
bind  itself  to  definite  action  in  conditions  which  could 
only  be  guessed  at  ? 

So  the  tale  of  unreality  went  on.  Here  was  a  well- 
written,  well-reasoned  article  on  the  cow-killing  griev- 
ance ;  but  Chris,  being  a  wielder  of  the  pen  himself, 
happened  to  know  the  writer,  and  could  remember 
seeing  him  eating  beefsteaks  at  the  Temple  dinners. 

Again,  in  a  paragraph  headed  "  Government  Greed 
and  Peasant  Poverty."  Could  any  detail  overcome 
the  indubitable  fact  that  India  had  the  cheapest  civilised 
government  in  the  world  .'' 

He  ran  his  eye  down  another  column,  and  caught  the 
phrase  "  social  progress  "  above  a  signature  which  he 
knew  to  be  that  of  a  man  who  had  just  married  a  child 
of  ten. 

And  what  was  this .''  "  The  Government  to  tvhicJi  is 
opposed  the  entire  intelligence  of  the  nation  !  "  Brave 
words  these,  when  the  proportion  between  such  intelli- 
gence and  the  general  ignorance  was  withheld  !  What 
was  it .''     Ten  thousand  to  one  ! 

"  The  political  training  of  the  mass  of  the  people  is  still, 
it  is  true,  somewhat  incomplete."  It  might  well  be  that 
when  the  percentage  of  mere  literates  was  almost 
negligible. 

"Even  the  Mohammedan  policy  was  better  than  the 
English  one.  True,  it  did  not  allow  freedom  of  the 
press.  ..." 


78  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Ye  gods !  Freedom  of  the  press  when  there  was  not 
a  newspaper  in  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land ! 
Could  unreality,  bunkum,  call  it  what  you  will,  go 
further  than  that  ? 

Chris  pushed  himself  back  from  the  table,  back  from 
the  boiled  ^gg,  back  from  the  newspaper,  back,  so  far 
as  he  could,  from  himself,  with  an  odd  sound  between 
a  laugh,  a  sob,  and  a  curse. 

Was  that  all  ?  Was  that  sort  of  ungenerous,  unreli- 
able, almost  unimaginable  drivel  the  only  indictment 
which  such  as  he  had  to  bring  against  those  who  had 
depolarised  life  ?  Who  had  neither  given  India  a  creed, 
nor  taken  one  away  ?  Was  that  the  only  arraignment 
for  the  tyranny  of  pain  such  as  his  ? 

No !  a  thousand  times  no !  There  was  more  to  be 
said  than  that ! 

So  to  him  came  the  fatal  facihty  for  words  which  is 
the  betrayal  of  his  race.  He  sat  down  to  write,  and, 
heedless  of  the  sound  of  dogcart  wheels  and  a  man's 
and  a  woman's  laughter  which  came  after  a  time,  did 
not  rise  until  he  stood  up  with  sheets  on  sheets  of 
scarce-dried  manuscript  in  his  hand,  feeling  for  the  first 
time  in  his  intellectual  life  that  he  was  alone.  Hitherto 
he  had  always  followed  the  thoughts  of  the  great  mas- 
ters. Hitherto  there  had  always  been  some  one  on  the 
road  before  him.  Now  the  question,  a  burning  one  to 
his  enthusiasm,  was  — "  Would  any  one  come  after 
him .'' " 

Hafiz  Ahmad's  house,  the  rallying-point  of  young 
India  in  Nushapore,  lay  close  by.  It  was  a  court-holi- 
day, and  therefore  the  chances  were  great  that  some 
meeting  or  another  was  being  held ;  since  meetings  are 
a  recognised  holiday  amusement  with  those  who,  amid 
all  the  unreaHty  of  their  lives,  are  still  terribly  in 
earnest. 

He  would  go  there  and  seek  an  audience. 

On  his  way  out,  however,  he  saw  Jack  Raymond  rid- 
ing up  the  drive.  Jack  Raymond,  one  of  the  few  Eng- 
lishmen he  could  count  on  to  be  kind,  yet  who,  despite 


SHARK  LANE  79 

that,  had  never  called  on  his  wife.  Was  he  going  to  do 
so  now  ?  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Jack  Raymond  had  had 
no  such  intention  ;  he  had  come  over  to  ask  Chris  him- 
self about  a  post  which  was  vacant,  and  which  might 
keep  John  Ellison,  loafer,  out  of  more  mischief ;  but 
seeing  Chris  coming  towards  him  with  a  pleased  expec- 
tant look  on  his  somewhat  pathetic  face,  a  half-irritated 
pity  made  him  ask  if  Mrs.  Davenant  was  at  home. 

"  I'm  sorry  she  has  gone  out  with  Lucanaster,"  he 
repeated,  unaware  of  the  emphasis  he  laid  on  the  quali- 
fication till  he  saw  poor  Chris  flinch,  when  he  said  hur- 
riedly, "but  I'll  come  in  if  I  may.  I've  a  question  or 
two  I  want  to  ask." 

Whereupon  Chris,  who,  despite  his  five  years  of  Eng- 
land and  his  wife's  incessant  instructions,  had  never 
been  able  to  grasp  that  exclusive  use  of  certain  rooms 
to  certain  uses,  took  Jack  Raymond  straight  into  the 
dining-room,  where,  amongst  the  litter  of  an  unfinished 
breakfast,  a  note,  on  which  quite  inadvertently  the  vis- 
itor set  his  riding-whip,  lay  face  uppermost. 

That  "Dearest  Jenny,"  therefore,  stared  Jack  Ray- 
mond in  the  face  all  the  time  he  was  settling  that  John 
Ellison  should  go  for  a  week's  trial  as  foreman  on  the 
new  goods  station  which  Chris  was  building.  He  knew 
the  writing,  and  had,  what  poor  Chris  had  not,  a  fixed 
standard  of  inherited  and  acquired  experience  by  which 
to  judge  the  writer.  And  so  a  curious  mixture  of  pity 
and  repugnance  came  to  the  Englishman  as  he  looked 
at  the  face  opposite  him  —  the  gentle  face  so  full  of 
intelligence,  so  devoid  of  character  —  and  thought  of 
that  other  coarser,  commoner  one.  It  was  a  question 
of  the  two  men  only  ;  the  woman,  dismissed  briefly  as  a 
bad  sort,  counted  for  nothing  in  Jack  Raymond's  mind. 

Yet  if  Lucanaster  had  been  an  Englishman,  it  is  ten 
to  one  that  Jack  Raymond  would  not  have  said  abruptly, 
as  he  did  say  when  he  rose  to  take  up  his  riding-whip, 
"  If  I  were  you,  Davenant,  I  wouldn't  let  my  wife  be 
seen  with  that  man  Lucanaster.  Of  course  you  can't 
be  expected  to  —  to  know  —  but  he's  an  awful  sweep !  " 


80  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

As  he  spoke,  his  knowledge  of  himself  made  him  clutch 
his  whip  tightly ;  but  Chris  only  stood  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment with  a  wild  appeal  in  his  soft  eyes.  Then  he  tried 
to  speak ;  iinally  he  sat  down  again,  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands. 

The  straining  of  the  long  brown  fingers,  tense  in  their 
effort  to  keep  back  tears,  the  long-drawn  breath  trying 
to  keep  back  sobs,  made  Jack  Raymond's  pity  fly  before 
impatient  contempt. 

"  I'm  sorry.  It's  evidently  worse  than  I  thought,"  he 
said;  "but  that  sort  of  thing  isn't  a  bit  of  good,  Dav- 
enant.     Put  your  foot  down.     Say  you  won't  have  it." 

Chris  Davenant's  face  came  up  from  his  hands  with 
the  dignity  of  absolute  despair.  "  How  can  I .''  Didn't 
even  you  say  just  now  I  couldn't  be  expected  to  under- 
stand.'' She  says  it  too.  And  I've  no  answer.  How  can 
I  have  one  when  there  is  no  place  for  me  —  or  for  her  .'* 
That  is  it.  If  she  had  friends  —  if  there  was  any  one 
to  care — any  one  even  to  be  angry;  but  there  is  no 
one." 

His  head  went  into  his  hands  again,  and  the  pity  born 
of  clearer  comprehension  came  back  to  the  Englishman, 
like  the  dove  of  old,  with  widespread  white  wings.  And 
like  the  dove  of  old,  it  brought  a  suggestion  of  calmer 
days  to  come  with  it. 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  that  way,"  he  said  slowly ; 
"  but  I  see  your  point.  A  lead  over  keeps  many  a  horse 
between  the  flags.  And  I'll  get  one  for  your  wife  if  I 
can.  Lady  Arbuthnot  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  —  he 
was  faintly  surprised  at  himself  for  this  remark,  which 
came  quite  naturally — "and  I'm  sure  she  will  send 
an  invitation  to  the  Government  House  garden-party. 
Then  there's  the  fete  and  the  Service  ball.  It  may  seem 
a  queer  cure  to  you — " 

"  Everything  is  queer,"  admitted  Chris,  trying  to  be 
cheerful.  "  But  I  know  she  felt  not  being  asked  —  I 
remember  her  saying — "  He  broke  off ;  for  the  remark 
had  been,  briefly,  that  it  was  no  use  considering  the 
proprieties  if  the  proprieties  didn't  consider  you. 


SHARK  LANE  8 1 

"Well!  that's  settled.  She'll  find  the  invitations 
when  she  comes  back ;  then  there'll  be  the  dresses,  you 
know,  and  all  that." 

Chris  shook  his  head.  "  I  am  not  sure  if  I  do.  It  is 
all  new.  But  it  is  more  than  kind  of  you.  If  I  could  do 
anything  for  you  in  return — " 

The  unreserved  gratitude  in  his  face  was  sufficiently 
womanish  not  to  rouse  the  English  distaste  to  all  ex- 
pression of  emotion,  though,  even  so.  Jack  Raymond 
put  it  aside  jestingly. 

"Thank  Lady  Arbuthnot,  my  dear  fellow  ;  she  " —  he 
paused,  a  remembrance  coming  to  him  —  "  By  the  way  — 
you're  in,  I  know,  with  all  the  Voice  of  India  scribblers 

—  write  for  it  yourself,  don't  you }  Well,  what  is  the 
meaning  of  those  hints  about  the  plague  poHcy  .''  What 
have  they  got  hold  of  .''  anything  definite  .''  " 

"  So  far  as  I  know,  nothing,"  began  Chris.  "  It  is,  I 
fear,  a  regrettable  fact  that  there  is  seldom  good 
foundation — " 

Jack  Raymond,  reins  in  hand,  swung  himself  into  his 
saddle  lightly.  "  Yes,  thank  God  !  Well !  if  you  should 
hear  of  anything,  or  if  you  should  have  a  chance  of — 
say,    burking   anything    likely   to  upset  the  apple-cart 

—  the  times  are  a  trifle  ticklish  in  the  city  —  take  your 
gratitude  to  me,  or  rather  to  Lady  Arbuthnot,  out  in 
that." 

Chris  flushed  up.  "Surely,"  he  began  volubly,  "it  is 
the  bounden  duty,  as  I  have  just  been  writing,  of  the 
educated  portion  of  the  community  to  leave  themselves 
free  for  reasonable  criticism  by  supporting  Government, 
wherever  possible,  by  throwing  heart  and  soul — "  The 
Englishman,  holding  his  impatient  mount  in  a  grip  of 
iron,  looked  down  with  a  bored  expression. 

"  No  doubt  —  no  doubt ;  but  the  body  fills  a  gap  better 
on  the  whole.  Good-by.  I'll  see  to  the  invites,  and 
you  can  drop  me  a  line  if  you  hear  anything  definite." 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    MONEY    OF    FOOLS 

"  Finally,  sirs,"  came  a  high  straining  voice  as  Chris 
Davenant  entered  Hafiz  Ahmad's  house,  "  the  educated 
youngster  of  India  refuses  to  let  his  soaring  aspirations 
remained  cribbed,  cabined,  confined,  in  the  cruel 
shackles  of  a  political  despotism  without  parallel  in  the 
whole  history  of  civilisation  !  " 

The  peroration,  though  it  seemed  to  afford  the 
speaker  much  satisfaction,  only  induced  that  faint 
desultory  clapping  which  in  England  is  reserved  for 
prize-days  at  school ;  that  impersonal  applause  for  the 
results  of  diligence  which  remembers  that  other  pupils 
have  yet  to  speak. 

This  was  the  case  here,  and  Chris  had  barely  wedged 
himself  into  a  chair  between  a  writing-table  and  a  waste- 
paper  basket  before  another  orator  was  in  full  swing  of 
adjective. 

The  row  of  bicycles  in  the  verandah,  and  a  knot  of 
those  green-box  hired  carriages  outside  on  the  road,  had 
told  Chris  already  that  he  had  been  right  in  calculating 
on  an  assemblage  of  young  India ;  but  this  was  a  larger 
gathering  than  he  had  expected,  and  he  remembered 
suddenly  with  a  vague  shame  —  since  he  was  a  promi- 
nent member  of  the  organisation  —  that  it  must  be  the 
monthly  meeting  of  the  Society  for  Promoting  the 
General  Good  of  People.  He  had  quite  forgotten  all 
about  it ;  still  here  he  was,  and  here  was  his  audience 
for  that  roll  of  manuscript  he  held. 

He  glanced  round  the  double  room,  —  for  both  dining 
and  drawing-room  had  been  thrown  open,  rather  to 
Miriam-bibi's  relief,  since  she  could  now  sit  unreservedly 

82 


THE  MONEY  OF  FOOLS  83 

in  the  screened  verandah  and  play  "beggar  my  neigh- 
bour" with  her  foster-mother,  who  did  duty  as  ayah  — 
and  recognised  almost  every  one  of  note  in  young 
Nushapore. 

Hafiz  Ahmad  was  in  the  chair,  of  course ;  a  rather 
fat  young  man  of  a  coarser  Mohammedan  type,  with  a 
short  curly  beard.  Like  many  others  in  the  room,  he 
wore  a  scarlet  fez ;  though  why  this  distinctive  bit  of  a 
Turk's  costume  should  be  grafted  on  a  ^;/(7i'z-English 
^;/^5/-Indian  one  is  a  mystery  not  to  be  beaten  in 
incomprehensibility  by  any  other  minor  problem  of  our 
Indian  Empire. 

Beside  him  was  Lala  Ram  Nath,  the  head,  in  Nusha- 
pore, of  the  only  real  political  organisation  in  India ; 
that  is  the  Arya  Somaj  ;  an  organisation  all  the  more 
dangerously  political  because  it  denies  the  basis  of 
politics,  and  appeals  to  that  of  religion. 

He,  Chris  knew,  would  be  the  last  to  admit  the 
position  taken  up  in  the  roll  of  manuscript,  namely,  that 
it  was  suicidal  on  the  part  of  the  little  leaven  of  educated 
natives  to  pose  as  the  party  of  opposition,  since  that  was, 
briefly,  to  array  itself  permanently,  inevitably,  against 
what  none  could  deny  was  the  party  of  progress  ;  the 
party  which  had  made  this  little  leaven  itself  a  possi- 
bility. . 

Ram  Nath,  the  breath  of  whose  nostrils  was  adverse 
criticism  to  Government,  who,  in  bewildering  defiance  of 
the  laws  which  govern  Indian  life,  had  swallowed  red- 
hot  Radicalism  wholesale,  like  a  juggler  swallowing  a 
red-hot  poker,  was  not  likely  to  admit  this  at  any  time ; 
still  less  now,  when  he  was  the  champion  of  a  wrong- 
fully dispossessed  Municipal  Committee.  Chris  knew 
exactly  what  the  Lala  would  say,  and  what  the  majority 
of  the  young  men  —  there  was  not  one  over  thirty-five 
in  the  room  —  would  say  also.  And  yet  their  faces  were 
brimful  of  intelligence,  of  a  certain  eager  earnestness. 
It  could  hardly  be  otherwise,  since  the  mere  fact  of  their 
being  in  that  room  proved  them  to  be  of  those  whose 
faculty  and  desire  for  acquiring  knowledge  was  so  faf 


84  VOICES  LV   THE  NIGHT 

superior  to  that  of  the  average  man,  that  it  had  taken 
them,  as  it  were,  to  a  place  apart.  To  be  tempted  of 
the  devil  perhaps  ;  though,  none  the  less,  the  fact  bore 
witness  to  a  certain  nobility  of  type. 

So  it  was  all  the  more  strange  that  when  —  the  next 
speaker  having  finished  in  a  calculated  chaos  of  words  — 
Govind,  the  dissipated  editor,  who  had  yawned  his  tacit 
approval  of  Dilaram  the  dancer,  rose  to  denounce  some 
trivial  iniquity  in  the  ruling  race,  his  middle-school 
EngHsh,  and  cheap  abuse,  was  received  with  just  the 
same  desultory  applause.  It  seemed  to  Chris,  listening 
impatiently,  as  if  the  faculty  of  criticism  had  been  lost 
in  its  abuse,  as  if  the  one  thing  needful  was  antagonism 
pur  et  simple. 

The  great  event  of  all  such  meetings  in  Nushapore 
followed  next  —  a  paper  by  Ram  Nath.  He  spoke 
admirably,  and  if  he  wandered  occasionally  from  the 
point,  the  vast  scope  of  his  subject,  "The  Political, 
National,  and  Social  Aspect  of  Modern  India,"  must  be 
held  responsible  for  that ! 

An  EngHshman  listening  would,  of  course,  have  chal- 
lenged his  facts  and  denied  his  conclusions ;  but  Chris 
did  neither.  He  gave  an  unqualified  assent  to  many 
and  many  a  point.  And  yet  when  he  listened  to  the 
assertion  that  "  the  cup  of  our  political  evils  is  so  full, 
the  burden  of  our  social  inequalities  so  intolerable,  and 
the  tyranny  of  custom  stands  out  so  red  and  foul,  that 
some  militant  uprising  has  become  essential  to  national 
salvation,  and  armed  resistance  the  only  hope  of  amend- 
ment," he  wondered  with  a  certain  shame  how  many  of 
the  millions  of  India  would  find  a  personal  grievance  in 
social  inequality  or  political  evil.  And  as  for  the  tyranny 
of  custom  }  What  militant  uprising  was  possible  among 
wiUing  slaves  .-• 

For  all  that  he  listened,  not  without  an  answering 
heart-beat,  to  the  Lala's  eloquence,  as  he  skilfully 
fanned  every  burning  question  with  a  wind  of  words, 
and  let  the  fretting  fingers  of  subtle  suggestion  under- 
mine the  foundations  of  fact.     He  was  specially  bitter 


THE  MONEY   OF  FOOLS  85 

against  the  plague  precautions,  and  his  hints  that  there 
was  more  behind  them  than  met  the  eye,  aroused  the  only 
spontaneous  applause  of  the  evening.  Yet  once  more, 
when  the  well-reasoned,  admirably-delivered  address  was 
over,  the  audience  listened  with  exactly  the  same  recep- 
tive expression  to  the  recitation,  by  its  author,  of  a  hymn 
for  use  in  the  approaching  Congress  in  which  delegates 
were  told  they  should  — 

"  To  croaking  fools  their  folly  leave, 
Their  canting  puerile  rant ; 
To  noble  mission  steadfast  cleave 
And  sprouts  devoutly  plant." 

It  was  a  very  long  hymn,  and  it  alluded,  amongst  other 
items,  to  the  "blazing  sun  of  Western  lore,"  to  "duty's 
trumpet  call,"  to  "  England,  dear  home  of  every 
virtue,  sweet  nurse  to  Liberty,"  and  to  "  India's  crying 
woes." 

It  secured  a  rather  more  hearty  meed  of  applause 
than  anything  else,  possibly  because  the  audience  — 
being  above  all  things  scholastic  —  appreciated  the  diffi- 
culty of  making  English  verse ! 

So,  with  a  resolution  that  the  "Good  of  People"  must 
be  encouraged  at  all  costs,  and  a  vote  of  thanks  to  Mr. 
Ram  Nath,  the  actual  business  of  the  meeting  ended, 
but  not  the  speechifying.  Half  a  dozen  minor  men 
stood  up  with  a  surcharged  look ;  but  one,  a  tall  young 
fellow  with  a  charmingly  gentle,  emotional  face,  caught 
the  chairman's  eye  first.  He  was  a  schoolmaster,  and 
at  his  own  expense  brought  out  a  monthly  magazine 
which  was,  briefly,  the  most  high-toned  bit  of  printing 
that  ever  passed  through  a  press.  Bishops  might  have 
read  it  and  confessed  themselves  edified. 

"  Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen,"  he  began,  "  although 
formal  recognition  of  our  distinguished  townsman's 
magnificent  elocutionary  effort  has  not  been  wanting,  I 
wish  to  record  my  humble  admiration,  and  to  state  my 
belief  that  his  forecast  of  possible  difficulties  regarding 
plague  precautions  may  amount  to  prophecy.     Since, 


86  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

alas !  our  poor  folk  have  been  strangers  to  beneficent 
sanitations  from  birth,  and  are  now,  as  another  honour- 
able speaker  pointed  out,  in  considerable  states  of  ebul- 
lition. Yet,  instead  of  applying  salutary  balms  to  these 
uneducated  minds,  I  grieve  to  say  that  efforts  are  being 
made  to  increase  terror ;  witness  the  golden  paper  fall- 
ing from  Heaven,  as  bolt  from  the  blue,  in  the  so-called 
Temple  of  Viseshwar.  This  trick  of  greedy  Brah- 
mins—  " 

Ram  Nath  Vv^as  on  his  feet  in  an  instant,  recognised 
champion  of  his  faith. 

"  I  beg  to  submit,  Mr.  Chairman,  that  these  words 
are  out  of  order.  This  society  is  pledged  to  neutrality, 
and  '  trick  of  greedy  Brahmins '  is  calculated  to  wound 
pious  feelings." 

"  I  second  the  protest,"  put  in  another  eager  voice, 
"and  beg  the  objectionable  phrase  be  withdrawn." 

A  murmur  of  approval  ran  through  the  larger  part  of 
the  audience,  and  Hafiz  Ahmad,  with  the  scowl  of  the 
true  idol-hater  on  his  face,  asked  the  speaker  to  with- 
draw the  words  ;  which  he  did,  protesting  that,  as  a 
member  of  the  Brahmo  Somaj,  he  had  only  spoken  with 
a  view  to  eternal  and  abstract  truth.  The  paper,  he 
continued,  though  possibly  only  the  outcome  of  the 
quarrel  which,  his  hearers  must  know,  had  been  going 
on  for  some  time  between  the  priests  of  the  two  rival 
temples  regarding  the  relative  supremacy  of  Kdli-md 
and  her  consort  Shiv;;>^  — 

Here  the  chairman  himself  called  with  alacrity, 
"  Order  !  Order  !  This  meeting  does  not  deal  with 
such  dogmatics,"  and  another  and  smaller  murmur  of 
assent  followed. 

The  gentle-faced  schoolmaster  apologised  again.  There 
could  be  no  doubt,  at  any  rate,  he  said  almost  patheti- 
cally, that  the  uneducated  mind  was,  as  the  poet  said, 
liable  to  be  tickled  by  straws,  and  so  he  conceived  it  to 
be  his  duty  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  "  Society  for 
Promoting  the  General  Good  of  People  "  to  this  paper, 
which,  he  might  add,  he  was  going  to  pillory  in  his  pub- 


THE  MONEY  OF  FOOLS  87 

lication  with  scathing  criticism.  So,  drawing  a  slip  from 
his  pocket,  he  began  to  read  in  the  vernacular  — 

"  /,  Kali,  zvill  come.  In  viy  dark  niontJi  I  will  come 
for  blood.  Woe  to  them  who  seek  to  stay  me  in  the  city, 
since  I  ivill  have  blood  on  my  altar  wJiether  the  hands  of 
strange  men  stay  Me,  or  smite  Me.  For  I  am  Kali  the 
Death-Mother  of  all  men,  whether  they  will  it  or  tio.  Yea  I 
I  will  come.'' 

The  vague  phrases,  besprinkled  with  hollow-sounding 
mysterious  Sanskrit  words,  brought  a  curious  hush 
even  to  that  assemblage,  till  Hafiz  Ahmad  laughed  arro- 
gantly. 

"Is  that  2i\\, pandit-Jee  f  he  asked;  "that  bogey  will 
do  little." 

"As  much,  I  venture  to  suggest,"  put  in  Ram  Nath 
suavely,  "as  the  bogey  of  supposed  invasion  of  domestic 
privacy  for  women." 

The  Mohammedan,  though  he  professed  himself  above 
such  considerations,  frowned.  "  I  demur.  The  caste 
prejudices  will,  in  my  opinion,  be  more  difficult  to  place 
on  common-sense  footings." 

They  had  embarked  on  the  fencing-match  which,  as 
often  as  not,  ended  discussion  between  these  two  recog- 
nised leaders  of  the  two  communities,  Hindoo  and 
Mohammedan,  and  the  attention  of  the  meeting  had 
wandered  after  them,  when  a  new  voice  brought  it  back. 
It  was  Chris  Davenant's.  Taller  than  most  there,  fairer, 
and  of  better  birth  than  the  generality  of  those  who  brave 
the  dangers  of  foreign  travel,  he  was  the  show  man  of 
young  Nushapore  for  pure  culture,  as  Ram  Nath  was 
for  ability ;  and  as  such  he  commanded  attention. 

"Gentlemen!"  he  said,  "it  seems  to  me  that  this 
paper,  ^hich.  pandit  Narain  Das  has  just  read,  will  give 
our  society  an  opportunity  for  practical  work.  It  means 
nothing,  or  at  most  little,  to  any  of  us  here.  But  none 
will  deny  it  will  mean  much  to  many;  to  our  friends  — 
let  us  face  the  facts! — ^to  our  own  families.  And  it  is 
a  dangerous  paper,  gentlemen  !  None  know  that  better 
than  we,  who  have  passed  from  the  influence  of  such 


88  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

words,"  —  here  that  faint  desultory  clapping  became 
audible  —  "and  it  is  just  because  we  Jiave  so  passed, 
that  I  ask  this  meeting  what  it  is  prepared  to  do  in 
order  to  combat  the  possible,  the  probable  effect  of  these 
mysterious  threats  ? " 

"  Hear !  hear !  "  came  several  voices.  And  then  came 
silence  ;  until  t\\Q  pandit  said,  in  hurt  tones  — 

"  I  have  already  told  this  meeting  that  I  will  publish 
in  my  monthly  magazine,  together  with  criticisms  of  the 
most  scathing  character  —  " 

"And,"  put  in  Ram  Nath,  rising  to  the  challenge  in 
Chris  Davenant's  face,  "  I  venture  to  suggest,  Mr.  Chair- 
man, that  this  meeting  pass  a  resolution  condemning  —  " 

"  And  who  will  know  what  resolutions  we  pass,  Mr.  Sec- 
retary .''  "  interrupted  Chris,  with  a  sudden  passion  which 
gave  his  face  a  look  that  was  half  hope,  half  wistful  doubt ; 
"who  will  read  your  diatribes,  Mr.  Editor.''  IVe !  We 
only,  who  pass  the  resolutions,  who  write  the  criticisms, 
who  know  already  how  to  appraise  that  paper !  Printed 
words,  gentlemen,  are  no  use  to  those  who  cannot  read, 
resolutions  are  naught  to  those  who  never  hear  of  them. 
But  we  have  tongues ;  we  can  speak !  We  can,  if  we 
choose,  throw  the  whole  weight  of  our  personal  influ- 
ence on  the  side  of  truth,  even  though  that  side  be  also 
the  side  of  a  government  with  which  we  have  many  a 
righteous  feud." 

As  he  paused  for  breath,  there  was  a  murmur  of 
approval  for  the  eloquence,  none  for  the  thought  it  held. 
"  Gentlemen  !  "  he  went  on,  "it  is  futile  for  any  one  here 
to  deny  that  this  paper  aims  at  rousing  religious  opposi- 
tion to  a)iy  precautions  whatever  against  the  plague ! 
Well !  some  of  us  here,  myself  among  the  number,  hold 
that  many  of  the  precautions  in  the  government  pro- 
gramme are  objectionable  —  " 

"And  more  in  the  private  instructions,  if  rumour  says 
true,"  put  in  Ram  Ndth  spitefully. 

"  I  have  listened  to  reasonable  criticism,  reasonable 
resentment,  and  I  have  agreed  with  it.  But  is  there  any 
one  of  us  here  who  would  throw  all  precautions  to  the 


THE  MONEY   OF  FOOLS  89 

winds?"  went  on  Chris,  passing  by  the  interruption; 
"is  there  any  one  who  really  believes  that  this  golden 
paper  fell  from  heaven  ?  If  there  are,  I  let  them  pass. 
But  for  the  rest  of  us,  I  call  upon  you  not  to  write,  not 
to  resolve,  but  to  speak ;  to  speak  to  our  wives,  our 
mothers,  our  sisters  —  to  the  timid  women  whom  such 
threats  alarm  ;  briefly  to  throw  our  whole  personal  influ- 
ence on  what  we  know  to  be  the  side  of  truth." 

There  was  an  instant's  silence ;  then  Hafiz  Ahmad, 
as  chairman,  said  perfunctorily :  "  I  am  sure  we  are  all 
completely  at  one  with  our  honourable  friend.  Such 
manifest  attempts  at  preposterous  intimidation  deserve 
the  heartiest  contempt  of  educated  minds." 

"I  second  that  proposition,"  added  Ram  Nath  as 
head  of  his  following.  "  We  are  morally  bound  to  give 
heartiest  co-operation  in  the  diflicult  task  before  govern- 
ment, in  so  far  as  is  compatible  with  strict  deference 
to  the  private  religious  feeling  of  all  parties  concerned. 
That  is  the  groundwork  of  true  liberty." 

A  fine  scorn  showed  on  Chris  Davenant's  face ;  he 
v/as  about  to  speak  wh&w  pandit  Narain  Das  turned  to 
him  with  a  wistful  apology  in  his,  and  said :  "  Without 
demurring  to  his  general  principle,  I  would  remind  our 
honourable  friend,  whose  educational  career  is  a  credit 
to  our  town,  that  our  influence,  alas !  is  but  a  broken 
reed.  Our  position,  in  a  society  of  ignorami,  is  anoma- 
lous, not  to  say  precarious.  And  if  we  too  freely  kick 
against  the  pricks,  we  are  in  danger  of  losing  what  we 
have,  which  would  be  undesirable.  As  John  Morley 
says  in  his  valuable  work  on  compromise  —  " 

Chris  turned  on  him  almost  savagely.  "  There  is  no 
need  to  preach  compromise,  pandit-jee  !  We  practice 
it.  We  do  not  let  our  opinions  influence  our  own  con- 
duct, yet  we  expect  them  to  influence  the  conduct  of 
our  rulers !  We  write  these  opinions.  Oh,  yes !  we 
write  them  !  Why .''  Because  we  know  that  only  those 
read  them  who  agree  with  us !  But  which  of  us  will  go 
from  here  to-day,  and  braving  opposition,  disregarding 
personal  considerations,  tell,  even  their  own  immediate 


90  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

families,  that  the  Brahmins  who  wrote  that  paper  are 
—  are  splendide  viendax  !  " 

He  could  not  help  it !  He  was  keenly  alive  to  the 
legitimate  fun  made  by  the  opponents  of  young  India, 
out  of  its  intolerable  aptitude  for  unsuitable  quotation, 
but  he  fell  a  victim  to  it  sometimes  himself.  So,  as  he 
paused  before  his  own  words  —  a  house,  as  it  were, 
divided  against  itself — he  lost  his  opportunity.  For  a 
dapper  little  gentleman  who,  by  reason  of  a  high 
appointment  under  government,  was  generally  allowed 
to  apply  the  closure  to  heated  or  unwelcome  discussions, 
had  risen,  and  caught  the  chairman's  eye. 

"What  our  honourable  and  esteemed  townsman,  Mr. 
Krishn  Davenund,  has  just  said,  must  receive  consensus 
of  universal  opinion,  since  it  is  doubtless  of  supreme 
importance  to  national  life.  Priest  craft,  supernatural- 
ism,  et  hoc  geruis  ouine,  are  clearly  traits  of  low  civili- 
sation, just  as  popular  government,  enlargement  of 
franchise,  and  diffusion  of  evolutionary  theories  are 
significant  of  higher.  Still,  Rome  was  not  built  in  a 
day.  Nor  is  there  use  in  raising  the  wind,  if  we  can't 
ride  the  whirlwind,  or  control  the  storm.  Therefore,  in 
the  mterivi,  pending  wider  liberty  of  speech,  I  propose 
that  this  meeting  pass  a  unanimous  resolution  condemn- 
ing such  paltry  attempts  at  cockering  up  superstitious 
feelings,  and  that  the  same  be  duly  recorded  in  the 
minutes  of  our  society." 

Before  the  relieved  applause  which  greeted  this 
diplomacy  was  over,  the  waste-paper  basket  beside 
Chris  Davenant  had  received  another  contribution. 
His  roll  of  manuscript,  torn  to  shreds,  lay  in  it,  in 
obedience  to  a  sudden,  swift  intuition  that  if  he  was 
ever  to  rise  beyond  the  chaos  of  lofty  aspirations,  the 
strictly  impersonal  admiration  for  great  deeds  in  his 
fellows,  he  must  leave  words  behind. 

So  silent,  alone,  he  walked  home  to  his  empty  house, 
his  empty  life. 

But  others,  though  they  passed  homewards  in  batches 
still  full  of  discussion,  still  drunk  with  words,  were  pass- 


THE  MONEY  OF  FOOLS  9 1 

ing  to  environments  which  were,  in  a  way,  even  more 
empty  than  his.  So  empty  of  the  sentiments  they  had 
just  been  formulating,  so  much  at  variance  with  the 
ideals  they  had  just  professed,  that  the  very  imagination 
grows  bewildered  in  the  effort  to  reconcile  the  two. 

Govind  the  editor,  however,  had  less  difficulty  than 
most  in  accommodating  his  mental  position  to  a  stool 
stuck  over  the  reeking  gutter  of  a  liquor  shop,  where 
he  refreshed  himself  with  a  brandy-and-soda  and  an 
infamous  cigar.  He  was  in  an  evil  temper,  because 
the  meeting,  which  he  frequented  chiefly  because  the 
speakers  provided  him  with  ideas  wherewith  to  spice 
his  own  broadsheet,  had  been  unusually  discreet ;  so  he 
would  have  to  write  his  own  sedition ;  unless  he  could 
pick  up  some  scurrilous  news  instead. 

"  Nay,  friend !  I  know  naught  to  suit  thy  purpose," 
replied  the  stout  sergeant  of  police  who  frequented  the 
same  liquor  shop,  to  whom  he  applied  ;  "  save  the  find- 
ing of  the  Lady-j'^/«'(5''s  jewel-box." 

"And  the  pearls  .'' "  asked  Govind,  taking  out  a  greasy 
stump  of  pencil. 

"The  pearls  !"  echoed  the  policeman  scornfully,  "as 
if  pearls  were  to  be  found  by  us  !  They  can  be  hid  in 
a  body's  very  mouth,  and  then,  if  there  be  not  another 
mouth  with  a  tongue  in  it,  there  is  silence !  But  the 
box  is  enough  to  keep  the  file  of  the  case  open,  and 
the  inspector  content  for  a  while." 

"  How  many  are  in  the  lock-up  concerning  it  .-•"  asked 
Govind,  out  of  the  fulness  of  his  knowledge  regarding 
police  methods. 

"  Six,"  yawned  the  sergeant.  "  The  coolie  who  found 
the  box  broken  and  empty,  flung  in  the  bushes  by  the 
Y.2,t.-sahib's  house ;  he  was  setting  the  fireworks  for  the 
big  spectacle  to-morrow.  He  sold  it  to  a  pawnbroker. 
That  makes  two  for  us.  Then  a  woman  bought  the 
velvet  lining  from  a  rag-merchant.  That  makes  four. 
She  gave  it,  to  Hashim,  tailor,  who  works  for  the 
Hiizoors  as  a  cap  to  her  grandchild.  And  he,  having 
doubts,    informed  us.     So    he   makes    five.     Then   the 


92  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

firework-maker's  people  were  turbulent,  therefore  we 
arrested  one  of  them  to  show  diligence." 

"  And  there  was  naught  in  the  box  when  it  was 
found  ?  "  asked  Govind.  He  was  writing  now  on  one  of 
the  smoothed-out  squares  of  white  waste-paper  which 
lay  in  a  pile  beside  the  liquor  seller,  who  used  them  for 
wiping  the  rims  of  the  tumblers,  out  of  deference  to  the 
caste  prejudices  of  his  customers  against  a  general  cloth. 

"  God  knows  !  "  yawned  the  policeman  piously.  "  The 
man  saith  not ;  but  there  were  letters  besides  the  trinkets 
and  the  pearls,  and  we  may  find  tliem,  if  not  the  others. 
Folk  will  not  lose  a  cowrie  s  worth  of  waste-paper  these 
hard  times." 

"Ay!"  assented  the  liquor  seller,  eyeing  Govind 
askance.  "  Mine  had  to  be  paid  for,  though  some  seem 
to  think  not.  And  paid  high  too,  since  the  firework- 
makers  were  in  the  market  for  their  squibs  and  crackers 
for  to-morrow." 

A  man  lounging  outside  in  the  gutter  laughed  sud- 
denly, viciously.  "  They  will  find  enough  for  t/icnt  any- 
how, even  if  they  have  the  police  at  their  tails  !  "  he  said, 
moving  off  with  a  defiant  salaam  to  the  fat  policeman. 

"  I  would  I  had  handcuffed  a  pair  of  them,"  remarked 
the  latter  mildly.  "  'Twould  have  been  one  trouble,  and 
'tis  well  to  save  oneself  what  one  can  these  hard  times." 

"  Trouble !  "  e'choed  a  passer-by,  shaking  his  head, 
"  there  will  be  no  saving  of  that  in  Nushapore.  Jan- 
Ali-shan  hath  returned  and  brought  the  plague,  so  folk 
say." 

The  liquor  seller  turned  in  quick  interest  to  the  ser- 
geant of  police. 

"  Dost  know  if  he  hath  returned.''  "  he  asked  ;  for  the 
loafer  was  a  customer  who  owed  money,  and  must  be 
got  hold  of  while  money  was  in  his  pockets. 

For  "answer  the  poUceman  chucked  away  his  cigar 
end,  stumbled  off  the  dais  of  the  shop,  and  stood  to 
attention,  as  a  figure  rounded  the  angle  of  the  next 
crossway  street,  followed  by  a  crowd  of  ragged  half- 
naked   urchins.     It  was  Jan-Ali-shan  himself,  washed, 


THE  MONEY  OF  FOOLS  93 

shaved,  spruce,  in  a  second-hand  suit  of  khaki  uniform 
and  a  white  helmet  which  he  had  redeemed  from  a 
pawnshop  on  the  credit  of  his  new  appointment  as  fore- 
man of  works.  Jan-Ah-shan,  who,  from  sheer  habit, 
had,  on  finding  himself  in  the  city  with  money  in  his 
pocket,  gone  straight  for  his  old  haunt.  From  the  new 
resolutions,  however,  which  with  him  always  began  with 
new  work,  he  called  for  a  "  gingerade  plain  "  in  a  voice 
of  authority,  which  made  a  little  circle  gather  round 
him  admiringly,  as  after  humming  a  stave  of  "  Drink  to 
me  only  with  thine  eyes,"  while  he  was  opening  the 
bottle,  he  proceeded  to  pour  its  fizzing  contents  down  his 
throat. 

The  interest  of  the  crowd  seemed  to  amuse  him,  he 
sat  down  on  the  plinth  and  drew  out  a  handful  of  pice 
in  lordly  fashion. 

"  Two  anna,  over  an'  above,"  he  said,  holding  up  the 
coins,  "  and  I  don't  want  no  change.  So  which  of  you 
noble  earls,"  here  he  turned  to  his  following  of  lads,  "is 
goin'  to  fight  for  the  balance  .-*  You  understand  }  Lurro 
abJii,  jjit  put,  an'  be  bnrra  bnrra  pailtvdn  for  two  pice  a 
'ed  (fight  now  immediately  and  be  great  heroes)." 

The  vile  admixture  of  tongues  seemed  quite  compre- 
hensible to  those  acquainted  with  Jan-Ali-shan's  methods, 
for  two  urchins  stepped  forward  at  once,  and  the  rest 
joined  with  the  other  loungers  to  form  a  ring. 

John  ElHson,  loafer,  leant  back  against  the  wall  at 
his  ease. 

"  Now  then,  ««/,"  ^  he  began,  "  back  to  back  fair  and 
square.  None  o'  yer  nigger  blarney,^  you  young  devil ! 
Fight  seeda,^  or  it  ain't  worth  fightin'  at  all.  And  I 
won't  'ave  no  buttin'  in  the  stummick.  Yoxire paikcans 
m  lienda  naJiin  (heroes,  not  fighting  rams).     Sunijha  ?  " 

The  boys  professed  to  understand,  and,  having  di- 
vested themselves  of  their  last  rag,  stood  like  slim 
bronze  statues  in  the  sunHght. 

1  Measure. 

"^  Nigar  bani,  lit.  looking  at,  favouritism. 

'  Straight,  fair. 


94  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

"Are  you  ready?"  asked  Jan-Ali-shan  with  superb 
gravity.  "Then  c/ml {go),  an'  may  the  Lord  'ave  mercy 
on  your  souls." 

They  were  locked  in  each  other's  grip  in  a  second  in 
true  Western  fashion. 

^^ Shab-bash ! ''  said  the  holder  of  the  stakes  with  an 
approving  nod.  "That's  wrestlin'.  None  o'  yer  slap- 
pin's  an'  buttin's  and  boo-in's.  Shab-bash!  boys.  Shab- 
basJi .'" 

The  crowd  grinned  widely  at  the  praise,  and,  as  the 
combatants  struggled  and  swayed,  discussed  their  family 
history  and  took  sides,  after  the  manner  of  crowds  all 
over  the  world.  Quite  a  breath  of  anxiety  ran  through 
it  as  a  fall  came,  but  came  sideways.  There  was  no 
dust  on  the  back  yet !  —  there  would  not  be  !  —  yes  ! 
there  would. 

Aha !  aha  !  there  was,  surely  ! 

There  would  have  been,  doubtless,  for  the  uppermost 
boy's  small  brown  hand  had  freed  itself  for  a  second 
from  its  grip  and  sought  blindly  on  the  ground  for  that 
recognised  weapon  in  Indian  wrestling,  dust  for  the 
adversary's  eyes,  had  not  Jan-Ali-shan,  seeing  the 
action,  sprung  to  his  feet,  stooped  over  the  writhing 
figures,  and  seizing  the  top  one  by  the  scruff  of  its 
neck,  held  it  up  by  one  hand  and  shaken  it  as  a  terrier 
shakes  a  rat. 

"  None  o'  yer  monkey  tricks,  none  o'  yer  nigger 
blarneying,  you  young  sneak,"  he  said  roughly,  as  he 
dropped  his  whimpering  prisoner  from  mid  air,  "  or 
I'll  make  mntti^  of  you.  Biis !  (enough).  T'other 
Johnny's  jeetgia  (won).  Here,  sonny !  take  your  do 
paisa." 

The  crowd,  however,  which  had  been  betting  freely  on 
the  event,  hesitated ;  the  supporters  of  the  dust-thrower 
grumbled.  They  were  headed  by  Govind,  who  began 
with  great  pomp  — 

"  I  would  have  you  aware,  sir,  that  use  of  dust  is  not 

^  Lit.  earth,  a  corpse. 


THE  MONEY  OF  FOOLS  95 

non-regulation  in  our  code;  therefore  the  other  boy  is 
victor." 

John  Ellison  looked  at  him  condescendingly,  and 
turned  up  the  cuffs  of  his  coat  with  unnecessary  elabora- 
tion. 

"Ain't  it  in  your  code,  baboo  f'  he  said,  with  equally 
elaborate  civility,  "  an'  t'other  chap  'as  won,  has  he } 
I'm  glad  t'hear  it.  But  this  is  my  show,  and,  by  the 
Lord  'oo  made  me !  I'm  goin'  to  run  it  myself.  An'  if 
any  gentleman  'as  a  objection  to  make,  let  'im  make  it 
now,  or  for  ever  after  'old  'is  peace." 

The  crowd  made  v/ay  for  him  hastily,  as  he  drove  a 
three-feet  passage  through  it  with  his  elbow^s  ;  but  as  he 
walked  jauntily  down  the  bazaar,  the  boys  fell  in  behind 
him  and  kept  step,  as  he  did,  to  the  "Wedding  March," 
which  he  whistled  in  reminiscent  continuation  of  his  last 
words.  For  they  knew  Jan-Ali-shan  of  old  as  one  who, 
drunk  or  sober,  always  had  a  reward  for  fair  fighting. 

"What  did  the  M'lecJtcJia'^  say.-*"  asked  a  grumbler 
who  did  not  know  English. 

"  That  'twas  nothing  to  him  what  was  our  custom. 
Tt  was  his,  and  that  settled  it.  It  is  their  word  !  Well ! 
let  them  say  it !  We  will  see,  brothers,  if  it  is  true, 
will  we  not.-* "  replied  Govind  viciously. 

A  murmur  of  approval  ran  through  the  bystanders, 
but  an  old  dodderer  with  a  white  beard,  who,  in  East- 
ern fashion,  was  dozing  through  his  days,  waiting  for 
death,  crouched  up  comfortably  on  a  string  bed  set  in 
the  sun,  said  dreamily  — 

"  Didst  say  it  was  Jan-Ali-shan  ?  Yea !  it  was  his 
word.  I  have  heard  him  say  it ;  and  he  keeps  it,  my 
sons  !  he  keeps  it!  " 

Govind  turned  on  the  speaker  scornfully.  "  Those 
were  other  times,  baba,  and  another  Jan-Ali-shan.  The 
times  have  changed  and  men  too — " 

A  thin  musical  laugh  interrupted  him.  It  came  from 
Lateefa,  the  kite-maker,  who  was  passing  with  his  bundle 
of  kites  for  sale. 

^  Lit.  outcast, 


g6  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"  Lo  !  baboo-jce  !  "  he  said.  "  I  know  not  of  time  but 
my  poor  portion  of  it,  nor  of  man  save  my  poor  self ! 
But  I  change  not,  and  I  am  as  others.  We  are  like 
kites ;  the  form  changes  not  unless  the  maker  chooses, 
and  God,  so  say  the  Moulvies,  changes  not  at  all.  He 
makes  men  on  the  old  pattern  ever  ;  the  rest  is  but  dye 
and  tinsel." 

So  he  passed  on,  tossing  his  bundle,  and  chanting  the 
street-seller's  cry  — 

"  Your  eyes  use,  and  choose  ! 
Use  vour  eves  and  choose  ! " 


CHAPTER   VII 

CRACKERS    AND    SQUIBS 

"  Tinkle^  tinkle,  ootel  ish-star.  Ha-a-vunder  vart-oo-ar .'''' 
"  Tinkle,  tinkle,  ootel  ish-star.  Ha-a-vunder  vart-oo-ar.'''' 
"  Tinkle,  tinkle,  ootel  ish-star.     Ha-a-vunder  vart-oo-ar .''^ 

The  damnable  iteration  went  on  and  on,  the  fiddles 
twangled  and  squeaked,  the  drum  bangers  banged,  the 
nautch-girl  sidled,  and  smirked,  and  shrilled. 

"  Tinkle,  tinkle,  ootel  ish-star.    Ha-a-vunder  vart-oo-ar.'' 

Lesley  Drummond,  sitting  in  the  front  row  of  guests 
at  the  reception  given  by  the  nobles  and  landed  pro- 
prietors of  the  Province  to  welcome  Sir  George  Arbuth- 
not  to  his  new  office,  shut  her  eyes  at  last  in  sheer 
despair  of  being  able  to  reconcile  the  senses  of  hearing 
and  sight ;  then  opened  them  again  to  stare  with  unap- 
peasable curiosity  into  the  blaze  of  light,  veiled  by  a  fine 
film  of  misty  smoke,  in  which  all  things  seemed  clear, 
yet  dim. 

It  came  from  the  prism-hung  chandeliers  which  hid  the 
low  white-marble  ceiling,  from  the  wretched  paraffin  wall- 
lamps  hung  against  the  white-marble  pillars,  from  the 
paper  lanterns  swinging  from  the  scalloped  white-marble 
arches.  But  it  came  most  of  all  from  the  garden  beyond 
the  arches  in  which  this  white-marble  summer-palace  of 
a  dynasty  of  dead  kings  stood,  centring  the  formal  walks 
and  water-courses ;  for  it  was  lit  up  in  long  close  rows 
of  soft  twinkling  lights  stretching  away  into  the  purple 
shadows  of  the  night,  until,  climbing  to  every  line,  every 
curve  of  the  purple  shadow  of  the  distant  city,  they 
showed  like  new  stars  upon  the  purple  shadow  of  the 
sky. 

H  97 


98  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

The  radiance  of  it,  the  brilliance  of  it,  dazzled  the 
eyes ;  the  dimness,  the  misty  dreaminess  of  it  clouded 
the  brain.  She  felt  drugged,  hypnotised  out  of  realities, 
as  she  looked  towards  the  dais  where  Sir  George,  the 
Star  of  his  Order  almost  hidden  by  one  of  the  huge  tinsel 
garlands  which  had  been  thrown  round  the  neck  of  the 
guests  as  they  entered,  sat  in  a  gilt  chair,  his  solitary 
figure  outlined  harshly,  by  reason  of  his  dark  political 
uniform,  against  the  background  of  white-marble  tracery. 
Thence  she  looked  to  the  English  ladies  in  gay  decollctes 
dresses  who,  with  a  sprinkling  of  black  coats  and  red 
tunics,  banked  the  dais  on  either  side.  So  to  the  line 
of  officials  and  soldiers  edging  the  gangway  below  the 
dais.  Finally,  on  to  the  hosts  themselves  who  sat  behind 
in  rows.  Rows  on  rows  ablaze  with  colour  and  sparkle. 
Rows  on  rows  imperturbable,  passive,  without  a  smile  or 
a  frown  for  the  scene  in  which  they  bore  so  large  a  part. 

So  far,  however,  despite  those  great  tinsel  garlands 
which  were  so  distracting  a  novelty  upon  black  coats, 
scarlet  tunics,  and  decollctes  dresses,  a  certain  relevancy 
to  the  central  idea,  embodied  in  that  soHtary  figure  of 
an  elderly  Englishman  raised  above  the  rest,  was  not 
wanting  in  the  details  of  the  spectacle. 

But  what,  thought  Lesley,  could  be  said  of  that  group 
upon  the  square  of  red  and  green-flowered  Brussels  car- 
pet spread  immediately  in  front  of  the  dais.?  Spread 
between  the  gilt  sofa  where  she  sat  with  Jerry  between 
her  and  Lady  Arbuthnot,  and  a  similar  gilt  sofa  on  the 
other  side  occupied  by  the  general's  wife  and  her  two 
daughters. 

What  an  inconceivably  unsuitable  surrounding  they 
made,  five  Englishwomen  and  a  child,  to  those  other 
five  and  a  child }  Two  ragged  drum  bangers,  two  dis- 
sipated fiddle  and  guitar  twangers,  a  dreamy-looking 
boy  doing  nothing,  and  the  usual  posturing  dancer, 
stout  as  to  figure,  bunchy  as  to  petticoats,  with  glued 
bandeaux  of  hair  and  a  nasal  quavering  voice  which 
paused  only  for  furtive  swallowings  of  the  betel-nut  she 
was  chewing  all  too  palpably  ! 


CRACKERS  AND   SQUIBS  99 

^^  Tinkle,  tinkle,  ootel  ish-star."  She  trilled  with  an 
affable,  opulent  curve  of  hip  and  hand  towards  the  sahib 
logne  collectively,  for  whose  delectation  she  was  singing 
"  Englis  f assen  "  ;  an  accomplishment  she  had  learned 
from  a  girl  who  had  been  taught  hymns  in  a  mission 
school. 

" Ha-a-vunder  vart-00-ar''  —  she  simpered  with  a 
special  coquettish  flirt  of  her  fingers  and  full  petticoat 
for  that  respectable  father  of  a  family,  Sir  George,  who, 
honest  man,  sat  horribly  conscious,  still  more  horribly 
bored,  yet  patient,  waiting  for  the  master  of  the  cere- 
monies to  ask  him  if  he  had  had  enough. 

Enough  1 

He  looked  past  the  pirouettings  to  that  thin  line  of 
white  faces,  bored  yet  patient  like  his  own,  which 
fringed  those  rows  on  rows  of  impassive  dark  ones, 
and  stifled  his  yawns  duteously  for  the  sake  of  the 
Empire.  No  such  reasons  of  state,  however,  swayed 
Jerry,  who,  dapper  and  dainty  in  knee-breeches,  silk 
stockings,  ruffles,  and  a  little  garland  of  his  own,  sat 
fidgeting  and  yawning,  yawning  and  fidgeting.  As  he 
looked  across  the  pirouettings  he  could  see  his  dearest 
Mr.  Raymond  dozing  with  dignity  in  a  chair  opposite, 
with  a  peculiarly  magnificent  garland  festooned  over 
him.  It  was  bigger  than  anybody's  but  dad's,  Jerry 
told  himself,  feeling  a  trifle  aggrieved,  and  he  wanted 
to  ask  why  it  was  so  large,  when  Mr.  Raymond  was 
sitting  oh  !  ever  so  far  back  ! 

"  Tinkle,  tinkle,  ootel  is Ji- star  !  " 

The  drums  banged,  the  fiddles  squeaked,  the  dancer 
postured,  and  Jerry  yawned  with  commendable  monot- 
ony, till,  suddenly,  the  little  lad's  patience  gave  way  at 
the  two  hundred  and  fifty-sixth  time  of  asking  the  ques- 
tion —  *'  Ha-a-vundcr  vart-00-arJ' 

"  Please  !  "  he  said,  in  his  clear  child's  voice,  "  it  is  the 
Star  of  India  dad's  wearin'.  The  Queen  gave  it  him 
for  doin'  his  duty." 

"Hush  —  hush,  Jerry!"  came  breathlessly  from  his 
guardians,  but  the  connection  of  ideas  had  been  too 


100  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

palpable.  A  titter  which  broke  from  the  ladies  behind 
him  made  Nevill  Lloyd  —  who  as  aide-de-camp  flanked 
the  dais,  resplendent  in  his  horse  artillery  uniform  — 
absolutely  choke  in  his  effort  to  be  dignified,  and  the 
joyous  crow  which  resulted  quite  upset  the  general  com- 
manding. Then  this  chuckle  from  the  right  row  of 
officialdom  did  for  the  Secretary-to-Government  head- 
ing the  left,  so  that  his  gurgle  was  the  signal  for  a  gen- 
eral roar  of  laughter  to  go  echoing  up  into  the  arches  ; 
general  so  far  only  as  the  white  faces  were  concerned. 
The  dark  ones  of  the  hosts  were  immovable,  keeping 
even  their  surprise  to  themselves. 

"  Some  one  ought,  surely,  to  explain,"  said  Lesley 
with  a  half-puzzled  frown,  as,  the  laughter  ending,  a 
general  stir  of  relieved  chatter  showed  that  the  audi- 
ence had  seized  on  the  interruption  as  an  end. 

"Explain,  my  dear.''"  echoed  Sir  George,  when  his 
wife  took  advantage  of  the  stir  to  repeat  Lesley's  sug- 
gestion, and  point  out  the  dancing-girl  standing  sullen, 
uncertain,  whispering  to  the  drum  and  fiddle ;  "  I  don't 
think  it's  worth  it,  and  I  don't  see  how  it's  to  be  done. 
Besides,  they  ought  to  have  laughed  too  —  they  really 
ought!     That  crow  of  Lloyd's  —  " 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,  sir,"  put  in  the  offender,  trying  to 
be  penitent  through  his  smiles;  "I'll  tell  you  what  I'll 
do.  Lady  Arbuthnot.  Raymond  is  bossing  the  supper 
for  them  from  the  club,  and  all  that.  He's  president  of 
the  committee  of  entertainment,  so  I'll  get  him —  " 

Sir  George  frowned.  "  We  needn't  trouble  Mr.  Ray- 
mond, Captain  Lloyd.  And  as  for  the  interruption, 
Grace,  it  rested  with  me  to  stop  the  nautch-girl  at  any 
time,  and  they  saw  we  were  amused.  That  is  really  all 
they  want." 

"Just  so,  sir,"  assented  the  Secretary-to-Government, 
a  trifle  ashamed  of  his  lapse  from  strict  etiquette.  "  And 
she  had  been  at  it  nearly  the  proper  time.  Only  five 
minutes  short  of  the  half  hour  we  gave  them.  And  you 
can  use  those,  sir  —  as  the  fireworks  will  barely  be 
ready  —  in  having  some  of  the  notables  up  for  a  talk. 
That  will  set  the  business  more  than  right." 


CRACKERS  AND   SQUIBS  10 1 

It  seemed  so,  indeed,  judging  by  the  radiant  faces  of 
the  favoured  few,  and  the  hopeful  interest  of  the  many, 
who  crowded  round,  grateful  for  a  word,  even,  from 
some  lesser  light. 

So  from  its  Eastern  formality  the  scene  changed  to 
Western  ways.  The  crowd  of  well-dressed  women  be- 
came interspersed  with  red  coats  and  political  uniforms, 
a  buzz  of  voices  and  laughter  replaced  the  silence  broken 
only  by  the  shrillings  and  twanglings. 

The  change  was  a  peculiarly  welcome  one  to  Mrs. 
Chris  Davenant,  who,  having,  of  course,  been  seated  in 
strict  accordance  with  her  husband's  rank,  right  at  the 
back  among  the  commercial  set,  had  been  growing  sulky 
over  her  chance  of  getting  into  better  society.  She  had 
not  for  the  last  two  days  snubbed  Mr.  Lucanaster  per- 
sistently, in  order  that  she  and  half  a  dozen  tailors  sum- 
moned hastily  should  have  time  to  turn  out  a  gown 
worthy  of  Paris,  simply  for  the  purpose  of  having  him 
compliment  her  on  the  result.  She  flew  at  higher  game, 
and  the  movement  of  the  crowd  brought  her  the  quarry. 

"Married  a  native,  did  she.''"  commented  a  big  man 
in  political  uniform  with  a  row  of  medals,  who  was  in 
from  an  out-station  for  the  show,  and  had  asked  who 
the  wearer  of  the  flame-coloured  satin  was ;  flame-colour 
with  ruby  sparklings  on  the  curves  of  hip  and  bosom 
out  of  which  the  fair  white  shoulders  rose  barely. 
"Well!  I,  personally,"  don't  find  the  husband  in  it,  if 
the  wife's  pretty !  Introduce  me,  will  you,  or  get  some 
one  else  to  do  it  who  knows  her,  if  you  don't." 

The  man  to  whom  he  spoke  looked  round  helplessly, 
and,  his  eye  falling  on  Jack  Raymond,  he  appealed  to 
him.  People  in  Nushapore  had  a  trick  of  applying  to 
the  secretary  of  the  club  for  odd  jobs. 

"  Ask  Lucanaster,"  said  Jack  Raymond  grimly,  "  he 
knows  her  awfully  well,  and  I  don't." 

And  thereinafter  he  watched  this  seething  of  the  kid 
in  its  mother's  milk  with  an  almost  fiendish  amusement. 
It  relieved  him,  for  one  thing,  of  the  necessity  for  speak- 
ing to  Mrs.  Chris  himself.     But  as  he  passed  the  group 


102  VOICES  lY   THE  NIGHT 

which  was  every  instant  growing  larger  round  the  flame- 
coloured  satin,  he  said  a  word  to  Chris  who  was  stand- 
ing listlessly  on  the  outside  of  it. 

"  Seeing  a  lot  of  old  friends,  I  expect." 

Chris  Davenant's  flush  made  him  curse  the  careless 
remark,  and  at  the  same  moment  some  one  came  hur- 
riedly up  behind  him  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  It 
was  a  tall  old  man  with  a  dash  and  a  swing  about  him 
still;  gorgeous  still,  though  his  brocades  were  worn  and 
old,  and  with  great  ropes  of  pearls  wound  round  him, 
and  a  straight  bar  of  grey  moustache  on  his  keen  brown 
face,  matching  the  grey  heron's  plume  in  his  low  turban. 
Briefly,  a  Rajpoot  nobleman  of  the  old  style. 

^'Ai  !  counsellor  of  the  old,"  he  said,  affectionate  con- 
fidence struggling  with  vexation  in  his  face,  "  give  me 
some  of  thy  wisdom  once  more." 

"  Hullo,  'KdLXidi'Sahib !  what's  up  .''  something  gone 
wrong  with  the  fireworks.'"'  asked  Jack  Raymond,  turn- 
ing at  once.  His  tone  was  friendliness  itself.  And  no 
wonder.  Many  a  time  had  he,  hard  rider  as  he  was, 
wondered  at  the  old  Thakoor  of  Dhurmkote's  dash  and 
pluck  after  boar.  Many  a  time  had  they  sat  up  in 
viacJians  after  tiger  together,  and  many  a  time  had  Jack  — 
wiser  for  the  reckless,  proud  old  sinner  than  he  was  for 
himself  —  urged  him  to  retrench,  to  keep  from  the  usurers. 
In  vain.  The  old  man,  head  of  his  clan,  would  only 
say,  "Not  so,  sahib.  If  the  son  had  lived,  perhaps. 
But  the  tiger  took  advantage  of  his  youth.  So  let  me 
live  and  die  as  my  fathers  lived  and  died."  And  then 
he  would  launch  out  into  further  extravagance,  as  fine  a 
specimen  of  the  native  gentleman  before  we  meddled 
with  the  mould,  as  could  be  found  in  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  land. 

"  Wrong  with  my  fireworks  .-'  "  he  echoed  indignantly, 
"There  is  nothing  wrong  with  them,  though  the  others 
stinted  me,  from  the  beginning,  out  of  jealousy !  Yet  I 
had  fooled  them.  But  now,  because  folk  laughed  at 
God  knows  what,  they  want  them  earlier.  It  is  jealousy 
again.     It  is  to  ruin  my  reputation  as  connoisseur.     I, 


CRACKERS  AND   SQUIBS  IO3 

who  have  spent  lacs  on  fireworks.  I,  who  to  prove  what 
I  could  do  with  the  miserable  pittance  assigned  to  me, 
have  paid  Meena  Buksh,  fireworkmaker,  five  thousand 
rupees  extra  —  I  had  but  two  allowed  me,  Huzoor — out 
of  mine  own  pocket,  or  rather  out  of  Salig  Ram  the 
usurer's,  since  I  reft  it  from  him  with  threats  —  he  owns 
land,  see  you,  as  well  as  money  —  " 

Here  the  old  man,  who  had  been  carried  away  thus 
far  by  his  grievance,  became  aware  that  Jack  Raymond's 
companion  was  not,  as  he  had  deemed,  some  young 
Englishman  who  would  either  not  care  to  listen  or 
would  not  understand  if  he  did  ;  and  in  any  case  would 
not  make  mischief  out  of  the  confidence.  For  Chris 
Davenant,  hemmed  in  a  corner  beyond  escape,  had  been 
unable  to  repress  a  smile  at  the  old  chieftain's  method 
of  proving  his  good  management  and  economy. 

"  Let  me  introduce  my  friend,  Mr.  Krishn  Davenund, 
Rana-i-,:?///^,"  said  Jack  Raymond  hastily,  noticing  the 
old  man's  haughty  stare.  "  I  think  you  knew  his  father, 
Pandit  Sri  Pershad,  judge  of  the  Small  Cause  Court." 

Considering  that  the  magistrate  in  question,  being 
more  or  less  in  feudal  relations  with  the  Thakoors  of 
Dhurmkote,  had  strained  many  a  point  in  favour  of 
their  extravagance,  the  acquaintance  was  indisputable ; 
yet  the  Rana-j'^^Z/Z/^'s  salaam  was  of  the  curtest  compati- 
ble with  courtesy  to  the  introducer,  and  he  drew  Jack 
Raymond  aside  to  continue  in  a  lower  voice  — 

"  They  want  me  to  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,  and  that 
means  ruin ;  for  some  fool  set  fire  to  a  bit  of  my  best 
set  piece,  and  'twill  take  twenty  to  repair." 

"  But  why  not  begin  with  something  else  .'*  "  suggested 
his  hearer. 

The  Thakoor's  face  was  a  study  in  triumph  and  dis- 
appointment. "  Because  it  is  a  welcome  to  the  Lat- 
sahib,  and  a  welcome  must  come  first.  And  it  is  new 
also  —  a  welcome  in  roman  candles  and  sulphur  stars ; 
my  reputation  is  in  it." 

"  Then  why  not  show  it  as  it  is,  and  explain  the 
accident? " 


104  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

The  Thakoor  looked  uncertain.  "  That  might  be. 
How  would  it  look,  think  you,  sahib,  '  God,'  then  a 
blank  —  for  that  is  where  the  damage  comes  in  —  'our 
new  Lieutenant-Governor.'  Would  it  be  understanded, 
think  you  .''  Would  it  look  well  —  in  roman  candles  and 
sulphur  stars.'' " 

"  God  blank  —  that  is  where  the  damage  lies,"  repeated 
Jack  Raymond  thoughtfully,  and  then  he  laughed.  He 
had  to  recover  himself,  however,  hastily  at  the  old  man's 
bewildered  face,  and  said  gravely,  "  I  don't  think  it 
zvould  look  very  well,  '^zx^-a.-saJiib,  especially  in  roman 
candles  and  sulphur  stars."  Here  another  laugh  ob- 
truded itself,  and  he  added  as  a  cover  to  it,  "  But  I  can 
tell  you  what  I  can  do  for  you  —  refreshments.  I  know 
iJiey  are  ready.  I'll  go  off  now  and  get  the  '  roast-beef ' 
sounded." 

The  old  chieftain  stood  looking  after  him  as  he  went 
off  enthusiastically. 

"  May  the  gods  keep  him  !  that  is  a  man,"  he  said 
aloud  to  himself.  "  If  all  the  sahibs  were  as  he,  a 
friend  —  " 

"  India  would  be  the  happier.  She  needs  such  friends," 
said  Chris  Davenant  suddenly.  He  had  been  trying  to 
make  up  his  mind  ever  since  the  meeting  at  Hafiz 
Ahmad's  house,  to  take  some  decided  step  towards 
organising  a  real  party  of  progress.  To  do  this  in  a 
way  that  would  ensure  confidence  with  both  the  Govern- 
ment and  the  people,  it  was  necessary  to  secure  some 
men  of  real  influence  ;  and  the  Thakoor  was  one.  His 
word  went  far,  both  West  and  East ;  and  fate  had  placed 
him  within  earshot.  So  Chris  had  spoken ;  his  heart, 
to  tell  truth,  in  his  mouth,  as  the  old  man  turned 
scowling. 

But  something  in  the  young  one's  face,  perhaps  a 
look  of  his  dead  father,  perhaps  its  own  inherent  good- 
ness, made  the  Thakoor,  instead  of  ignoring  the  remark, 
say  curtly  — 

"  I  see  it  not.     What  friends  does  India  need  .?  " 

Then  Chris  pulled  himself  together  for  speech,  and 


CRACKERS  AND   SQUIBS  105 

the  old  man  listened,  first  contemptuously,  then  with 
tolerance. 

"  Thou  speakest  well,"  he  said,  nodding  approval. 
"  And  as  thou  sayest,  the  people  need  leaders,  not 
baboos.     Come  to  my  house  some  day,  and  —  " 

"  Have  you  my  shawl,  Chris }  "  said  a  woman's  voice, 
interrupting  the  invitation.  "Oh,  I  don't  want  it  now, 
not  till  the  fireworks,  but  you  can  bring  it  then,  to  the 
supper-room."  So,  satisfied  at  having  shown  her  hus- 
band that  if  he  were  talking  to  pearls  and  brocade,  she 
had  annexed  a  uniform  and  medals ;  satisfied  also  at 
having  shown  both  the  uniform  and  the  brocade  in  what 
good  company  they  were,  Mrs.  Chris  Davenant  passed 
on,  all  white  arms  and  back,  edged  perfunctorily  with 
flames  and  rubies. 

"Who  —  who  is  that  me^nV  asked  the  old  Rajpoot 
swiftly,  for  one  of  the  white  arms  had,  incredible  to  say, 
nudged  Chris's  black  one,  to  attract  his  attention. 

Chris  gave  back  the  stare  defiantly.  "That  is  my 
wife,  Thakoo-i-f^/^/i!^." 

The  old  chieftain  stood  bewildered  for  a  moment; 
then  he  gave  a  scornful  laugh. 

"  Men  of  thy  sort  are  no  friends  to  India,  baboo-jee" 
he  said.  So,  with  a  twirl  of  the  straight  grey  mous- 
tache, he  strode  away,  leaving  Chris  more  lonely  than 
ever. 

So  absolutely  alone,  that  the  sheer  physical  pain  of  his 
loneliness  drove  him  on  toward  the  sound  of  laughter 
and  voices,  the  popping  of  champagne  corks,  which 
came  from  the  marble-screened  verandah  where  the 
refreshm.ent-tables  stood. 

It  was  full  of  English  people  only,  since  this  part  of 
the  entertainment  was  left  by  the  hosts  in  alien  hands ; 
but  through  the  marble  lace-work  filling  up  the  arches, 
the  softly  radiant  lines  of  light,  climbing  upwards  to  the 
stars,  could  be  seen,  and  the  hum  of  the  multitude  wait- 
ing beyond  the  garden  to  see  the  fireworks  was  audible. 

"  Have  you  all  you  want,  Miss  Drummond .-'  "  said 
Jack    Raymond    as   he    passed.     He    looked  well,   she 


I06  VOICES  IN  THE   NIGHT 

thought,  and  wore  his  garland  with  a  difference.     Jerry 
had  hold  of  it  in  a  second,  detaining  him  — 

"  Oh  !  I  say  !  please,  what  a  whopper  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Why  did  they  give  it  you  ?  " 

"  For  doing  my  duty,  of  course,"  he  laughed.  "  I 
say,  young  man,  you  upset  the  apple-cart,  didn't  you  ? " 

Lesley  looked  her  regret.  "  It  was  awful  !  And  so 
much  worse  not  to  explain.  It  was  so  rude.  I  don't 
wonder  the  people  dislike  us." 

Jack  Raymond's  face  took  a  curiously  obstinate  look. 
"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  explain  —  there  is  the  Tha- 
koor  of  Dhurmkote  ;  he  is  more  like  an  Englishman  in 
his  mind  than  any  native  I  know.  Shall  I  introduce 
him,  and  let  you  get  it  off  your  conscience  .'' " 

A  minute  after  the  little  group  —  Jack  Raymond  ex- 
plaining, the  old  Rajpoot  listening,  Lesley  waiting  for 
the  laugh  to  come,  and  Jerry  watching  puzzled,  doubt- 
ful how  far  the  joke  would  be  against  him — gave  Grace 
Arbuthnot,  in  her  solitude  of  honour,  a  pang  of  envy. 
It  was  dull  always  talking  to  the  proper  people !  And 
Jack  Raymond  need  not  keep  aloof  from  her  so  point- 
edly.    It  was  so  foolish.     As  if  it  were  possible  — 

In  a  sort  of  denial,  she  just  touched  the  gold  lappets 
of  Sir  George's  coat  —  the  faintest,  lightest  finger-touch 
—  as  he  stood  talking  to  the  general ;  but  he  turned  at 
once. 

"  Do  you  want  anything,  dear .-'  " 

She  flushed,  and  laughed ;  a  pretty  flush,  a  pretty 
laugh,  chiefly  at  her  own  impulsiveness. 

"  Nothing,  dear,  absolutely  nothing,"  she  said,  and  he 
smiled  back  at  her.  None  the  less,  she  still  watched 
the  group  enviously. 

But  Lesley,  for  her  part,  was  beginning  to  wish  she 
had  not  joined  it ;  for  the  discovery  of  her  own  mistakes 
was  never  a  pleasant  process  to  the  young  lady,  and 
something  in  the  old  Thakoor's  face  warned  her  she 
was  out  of  her  depth. 

' '  Ap  ne  s7icJiJif7irmaya.  Ap  ne  be  sJiakk  sucJiJifnrmaya, 
came  the  courteous  old  voice,  as  Jack  Raymond's  ceased. 


CRACKERS  AND  SQUIBS  I07 

and  the  courteous  old  face  bent  in  grave  approval  over 
the  child's. 

"  Please  !  what  does  he  say  ?  "  asked  Jerry,  sober  as  a 
judge. 

Jack  Raymond  had  not  a  smile  either,  though  he 
looked  hard  at  Lesley.  "  He  says,  translated  literally, 
that  'You  caused  the  truth  to  be  told;  without  doubt 
you  caused  it  to  be  told.'  " 

Jerry  heaved  a  huge  sigh  of  relief,  and  looked  up  into 
the  old  face,  his  childish  one  full  of  confidence. 

"  In  course  I  did.  I  knew  it  was  the  Star  of  India, 
'cos  mum  told  me.  An'  I  don't  know  why  the  grown- 
ups laughed;  but  he  didn't  —  he's  a  nice  old  man,  an'  I 
like  him." 

So,  to  the  old  chieftain's  inexpressible  delight,  he 
tucked  his  hand  into  the  Rajpoot's,  and  said,  "Thank 
you,  sir ! " 

"  You  and  I  are  out  of  it.  Miss  Drummond,"  remarked 
Jack  Raymond,  as,  after  permission  asked  and  granted, 
the  Thakoor  went  off,  proud  as  Punch,  to  show  the 
cJiota  sahib,  who  had  only  spoken  the  truth,  to  the  rest 
of  the  committee. 

That  "you  and  I"  lingered  somehow  pleasantly  in 
the  girl's  memory,  so  that  when  she  returned  to  Lady 
Arbuthnot's  side,  and  the  latter  (somewhat  to  her  own 
surprise)  felt  impelled  to  make  some  remark  on  the  con- 
versation she  had  noticed,  Lesley  repUed  carelessly  — 

"  Yes  !  I  think  I  like  him  better  than  I  did  ;  he  isn't 
half  bad." 

Grace  Arbuthnot  felt  suddenly  as  if  she  could  have 
boxed  the  speaker's  ears.  Not  half  bad  !  And,  except 
in  position,  and  one  or  two  things  which  did  not,  could 
not,  show  in  mere  acquaintance.  Jack  Raymond  had 
changed  very  little  since  the  days  when  he  had  been 
her  ideal  of  all  a  man  should  be.  What  was  more,  that 
ideal  of  hers  had  not  changed  at  all !  Yet  here  was  this 
girl  thinking  him  not  half  bad  ! 

The  advent  of  the  general's  wife,  however,  full  —  as 
usual  —  of  fears  about  everything,  created  a  diversion. 


I08  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Was  not  Lady  Arbuthnot  afraid  of  catching  cold  in 
going  out  to  watch  fireworks  ?  To  be  sure,  she  was 
wearing  a  high  dress,  which  was  perhaps  more  suitable. 
But,  anyhow,  was  she  not  afraid  of  getting  it  spoilt 
with  the  oil  and  the  dirt  ?  And  if  she  was  not,  did  not 
the  underlying  doubt  as  to  the  general  safety  of  the  posi- 
tion disturb  her  ?  Supposing  it  was  only  a  plot  to  get 
the  whole  European  community  together,  unarmed,  and 
blow  them  up  ?  After  the  mutiny  anything  was  pos- 
sible. 

"  My  husband  shall  take  you  in  charge,"  interrupted 
Grace,  "  and  as  he  has  to  be  escorted  everywhere  by  the 
biggest  swells,  yoii  will  be  quite  safe,  for  they  would 
hardly  blow  themselves  up  !  " 

She  spoke  politely  enough,  but  as  she  passed  out  to 
the  terrace,  she  said  aside  to  Lesley,  "  What  a  fool  that 
woman  is !  yet  she  is  not  much  worse  than  half  the 
others.  If  anything  could  make  us  lose  our  hold  on 
India,  it  will  be  the  women  —  as  it  was  in  the  mutiny." 

Jerry,  who  had  come  back,  was  holding  his  mother's 
hand,  and  looked  up  all  eyes  and  ears. 

"  Do  you  think  there  will  be  one  weally  .-•  "  he  asked, 
with  quite  a  tremble  of  eagerness  in  his  voice. 

"  No,  Jerry,  certainly  not,"  she  replied  quickly, 
vexed  he  should  have  heard ;  "  and  if  there  were,  there 
is  no  use  in  being  frightened." 

His  face  flushed  crimson.  "It  —  it  isn't  that,'"  he 
began,  gripping  her  hand  tighter,  then  paused  ;  perhaps 
because  at  that  moment  a  line  of  coloured  fires  swept  in 
curves  against  the  background  of  purple  shadow  to  form 
the  legend  —  "  God  bless  our  new  Lieutenant-Governor." 

A  hum  of  applause,  not  for  the  words,  but  the  Roman 
candles  and  sulphur  stars,  rose  from  beyond  the  garden. 

On  the  terrace,  too,  admiration  was  loud  and  the  old 
Thakoor's  delight  was  boundless.  He  was  here,  whis- 
pering Sir  George  that  he  had  only  been  allowed  two 
thousand  rupees ;  there,  apologising  to  the  rest  of  the 
committee  for  imaginary  shortcomings,  or  down  in  the 
smoke  and  noise  below,  urging  the  pyrotechnists  to  be 


CRACKERS  AND   SQUIBS  lOQ 

quick,  to  spare  no  pains,  to  show  the  Huzoors  what  they 
could  do. 

"  That  will  we  !  "  muttered  an  underling  as  he  stooped 
to  his  task  ;  the  letting  off,  Hke  minute-guns,  of  the 
detonating  maroons  which  the  native  loves. 

And  another  man,  as  he  bent  to  touch  a  fuse  with  his 
port-fire,  gave  a  sinister  laugh,  and  remarked  under  his 
breath  that  scarred  necks  could  do  without  pearls  ! 

So,  in  hot  haste,  the  set  pieces  succeeded  each  other 
—  the  Catherine  wheels  span,  dropping  coloured  tears; 
the  fire-fountains  played ;  the  great  clouds  of  smoke, 
edged  with  many  tinted  reflections  of  the  lights,  drifted 
sideways,  and  beyond  them  the  balloons  sailed  up  one 
by  one  to  form  new  constellations  in  the  sky ;  but  the 
curved  rockets  paused  with  a  little  sob  of  despair,  and 
sank  back,  dropping  the  stars  which  they  had  hoped  to 
set  in  high  heaven. 

And  above  the  noise,  the  bustle,  the  popping  of  squibs 
and  crackers,  came  the  sound  of  an  English  military 
band  and  the  minute-guns  of  the  maroons. 

Lesley  Drummond  on  the  lower  terrace  watching, 
listening,  was  conscious  of  a  curiously  new  sense  of 
enjoyment,  almost  exultation.  Her  life,  the  emotionally 
restricted  life  of  the  modern  girl  who,  having  freed  her- 
self from  minor  interests,  has  not  yet  found  wider  ones, 
had  been,  though  she  would  never  have  admitted  it,  cold 
and  grey.  But  to-night,  for  the  first  time,  she  realised 
that  her  nature  held  other  possibilities.  The  dim  dark- 
ness, the  faint  light,  the  mystery  encompassing  the 
mirth  around  her,  even  Jack  Raymond's  voice  asking 
carelessly,  as  he  passed,  how  she  was  getting  on,  made 
her  feel  dizzy  with  pleasure. 

"We  are  having  a  splendid  time,"  she  answered  joy- 
ously.    "  Aren't  we,  Jerry  .''  " 

But  Jerry  answered  nothing.  He  was  much  too 
absorbed  ;  his  wide  grey  eyes  were  wider  than  ever,  star- 
ing out  at  the  fireworks. 

"  What  is  it,  Jerry .'' "  she  asked  curiously.  "  What  do 
you  see  .'*" 


I  lO  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

"Oh  !  nuffin  yet,"  answered  the  little  lad;  "but  if  it 
was  to  come — " 

As  he  spoke  a  sudden  scream  rose  from  a  group  of 
ladies  close  by.  A  man,  running  as  for  dear  life  to  set 
and  light  a  fresh  row  of  fire-fountains,  squibs,  and 
crackers,  had  stumbled,  tripped,  fallen  against  the  low 
parapet,  and  in  his  attempt  to  save  himself  had  dropped 
some  of  the  fireworks  over  on  to  the  terrace.  Nor  was 
that  all ;  the  flaming,  spouting  gerb  he  carried  in  his  left 
hand  as  a  port  fire,  had  swung  round  on  them,  and  there 
they  were  in  the  middle  of  gauze  and  muslin  —  alight ! 

A  knot  of  squibs  was  the  first  to  explode,  darting 
hither  and  thither  wickedly,  like  snakes,  amid  the  frills 
and  flounces,  amid  the  screams. 

"  Keep  back  !  Keep  back  !  "  shouted  the  men  ;  and 
some  had  their  coats  off  in  a  second,  while  others  held 
the  ladies'  filmy  dresses  back,  beating  the  sparks  off 
with  their  hands,  or  stamping  them  out  with  their  feet. 

But  there  was  a  round  black  something,  with  just  a 
tiny  glow  sizzling  slowly  into  it,  which  no  one  noticed 
as  it  lay  half  hidden  under  a  velvet  gown ;  no  one  but 
Jerry  — 

The  next  instant  he  was  standing  with  it  in  his  hands, 
confused  for  the  moment  by  the  dense  circle  round  him 
through  which  he  saw  no  way  for  a  small  boy. 

"  Drop  it,  drop  it ! "  shouted  some  one,  and  Lesley 
was  beside  him  trying  to  snatch  the  detonator  from  him. 
But  he  dodged  from  her  with  an  appealing  cry. 

"  It's  mine.     It  weally  is  my  shell  —  it  weally  is  !  " 

He  dodged  Nevill  Lloyd,  also,  who  dashed  at  him 
yelling — "Drop  it,  you  young  fool";  and  he  might 
have  gone  on  dodging  others  till  that  tiny  glow  sizzled 
in  to  the  powder,  if  some  one  else,  realising  the  situation 
and  the  few  seconds'  grace  that  remained,  had  not 
shouted  — 

"Hold  tight,  Jerry!  Hold  tight!"  —  and  so,  with 
that  reassuring  request  had  run  to  the  child,  caught  him 
in  his  arms,  and  forced  a  way  through  the  crowd  to  the 
parapet. 


CRACKERS  AND  SQUIBS  1 1 1 

"  Now,  my  lad,  heave  !  "  came  the  order. 

And  Jerry,  who  had  held  tight,  heaved,  since  these 
were  reasonable  orders.  Heaved  not  an  instant  too 
soon,  however,  for  the  round  black  thing  was  still  so 
close  when  it  changed  to  a  flash,  a  flame,  a  roar,  that  it 
left  Jack  Raymond  and  the  child  wholly  dazed  and  half 
blind,  all  singed  and  powder  grimed. 

They  were  still  standing  so,  bewildered,  the  man's  face 
and  the  child's  close  together  disguised  by  their  very 
griminess  into  quaint  Hkeness,  when  Grace  Arbuthnot 
came  up  to  them. 

"  He  isn't  hurt,"  said  Jack  Raymond,  quickly  setting 
down  the  child,  partly  to  prove  his  words,  partly  because 
he  wished  to  dissociate  himself  from  the  situation  as  far 
as  possible.  The  action,  however,  brought  him  closer  to 
her  eyes,  and  something  in  them,  something  in  the  faint 
perfume  of  heliotrope  about  her  dress,  the  perfume  he 
remembered  so  well,  made  him  feel  ashamed  of  his  own 
thought. 

"  He  is  really  not  hurt,"  he  continued  in  a  low  voice 
for  her  ear  alone.  "  And  he  behaved  —  as  I  should 
have  expected  your  son  to  behave." 

He  had  not  meant  to  say  so  much,  but  something  of 
the  old  confidence  seemed  to  have  returned  to  him  with 
the  old  memory  ;  and  to  her  also,  for  she  shook  her  head 
and  said,  almost  with  a  smile  — 

"He  is  not  a  bit  like  me  —  he  is  far  more  like  you." 
She  paused,  startled  at  her  own  unconsidered  words, 
and  looked  at  him  with  a  sudden  shrinking  in  her  face. 

"Very,"  he  replied,  catching  up  the  boy  again.  "  We 
are  both  black  sheep.  Come  along,  my  hero,  and  scrub 
some  of  the  likeness  off." 

But,  as  he  carried  Jerry  away  on  his  shoulder  to  the 
dressing-room,  he  told  himself  that  she  was  right.  The 
boy  zvas  like  him.  Now  that  it  had  been  suggested  to 
him,  he  saw  it  clearly.  Not  in  face,  but  in  the  nameless 
ways  which  show  a  likeness  in  the  inward  stuff  that  has 
gone,  possibly,  to  make  up  a  very  dissimilar  outside. 

The  explanation  was  simple,  of  course.     It  was  a  case 


112  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

of  reversion.  He  himself  had  always  been  counted  a 
typical  Raymond,  and  Jerry,  through  his  mother,  had 
harked  back  to  that  distant,  almost-forgotten  ancestor. 
Something  had  made  the  current  set  that  way  once 
more ;  that  was  all. 

But  what  something .''  Was  it  possible  that  the  mind 
had  this  power  as  well  as  the  body  .'* 

He  swung  the  child  to  the  attendant  grimly,  and  bade 
him  wash  the  chota  sahib's  face,  and  be  sure  to  take  off 
all  the  black. 

That  Hkeness,  at  any  rate,  need  not  remain.  The 
other  left  him  curiously  helpless,  curiously  ashamed. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   TEMPLE    OF    VISESHWAR 

Chris  had  followed  his  wife  into  the  supper-room  with 
the  vague  hope  of  feeling  that  he  had  a  place  somewhere, 
that  he  belonged  to  something,  even  to  her.  He  had 
found  her  surrounded  by  strangers,  and  evidently  for- 
getful of  his  very  existence. 

So  a  resentment  had  come  to  lessen  his  self-pity ; 
resentment  at  many  things.  What  right,  for  instance, 
had  that  proud  old  semi-savage  to  say  that  such  as 
he  were  no  friends  to  India .''  It  was  a  lie.  Such  as  he 
were  its  best  friends.  Yet,  as  he  made  the  assertion, 
he  knew  it  needed  proof.  What  had  such  as  he  done  to 
show  their  friendship  .■*    Very  little.    Even  he  himself  — 

A  sudden  determination  to  act  came  upon  him ;  a 
resolve  not  to  let  another  day  pass  without  showing  that 
he,  at  least,  knew  which  way  true  friendship  lay. 

So,  partly  in  disgust  at  the  trivialities  around  him, 
partly  from  a  restless  desire  to  think  the  matter  out  once 
for  all,  he  told  his  wife  curtly  that  he  was  leaving  the 
dogcart  at  her  disposal,  and  passed  out  through  the 
garden  into  the  almost  deserted  roads  beyond. 

The  very  thought  of  Shark  Lane,  however,  was  repel- 
lent in  his  present  frame  of  mind ;  avoiding  that  direc- 
tion, therefore,  he  wandered  on  aimlessly,  conscious  only 
at  first  that  —  after  the  glare  and  the  noise  —  the  dark- 
ness, the  stillness,  was  restful  to  eyes,  to  heart,  to  brain. 
He  did  not  think  at  all.  For  the  time  he  was  absolutely 
at  fault,  utterly  depolarised. 

So  he  felt  startled,  roused  to  a  definite  sensation  of 
mingled  pleasure  and  pain,  when,  forced  to  pull  up  by  a 
shadowy  void  before  him,  he  found  it  was  the  river; 
1  113 


114  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

that,  despite  the  confusion  in  his  mind,  his  body  had  led 
him  to  the  old  way  of  salvation,  to  the  old  purification. 

The  night  was  too  dark  for  him  to  see  what  lay 
before  him ;  but  his  memory  held  its  every  detail. 
These  were  the  bathing-steps,  and  below  him  lay  the 
oldest  building  in  Nushapore,  the  temple  of  Viseshwar. 
Here,  to  the  insignificant  block  of  rough-hewn  stone 
tapered  to  a  spire  which  rose  square  and  bare  from  the 
very  water,  his  mother  had  brought  him  as  a  child. 
Here,  with  childish  delight  in  the  action,  childish  dis- 
regard of  its  meaning,  he  had  hung  his  jasmin  garlands 
round  the  smooth  upright  black  cone,  which  was  all  the 
shrine  held  for  worship  ;  yet  which,  even  so,  had  been 
to  his  child's  ignorance  a  god ;  as  such  in  a  way  familiar, 
comprehensible,  commonplace. 

But  now  it  was  neither ;  now  to  his  wider  knowledge 
it  had  gained  so  much  in  mystery,  in  awe,  by  being 
symbol  of  the  great  incomprehensible  problem  of  life 
and  death,  that,  as  he  stood  in  that  wedding-garment  of 
culture  —  a  suit  of  dress-clothes  —  looking  down  through 
the  darkness  to  where  he  knew  that  lingain  must  rise, 
smoother,  more  worn  by  worship  than  ever,  a  shiver 
ran  through  him  at  the  thought  that  there,  among  the 
withered  chaplets  at  its  feet,  humanity  had  knelt  for 
ages  and  found  no  answer  to  the  riddle  of  life. 

He  sat  down  mechanically  on  the  uppermost  of  the 
steps,  and  gave  himself  up,  as  it  were,  to  the  night, 
conscious  of  a  vague  content  that  it  should  be  so  dark. 

To  begin  with,  it  hid  many  things  best  left  unseen  — 
himself  most  of  all !  For  that  meant  forgetfulness  of 
much.  His  dress-clothes,  for  instance,  and  things  to  be 
classed  with  them !  Then  it  hid  the  railway  bridge  — 
strange  sight  in  such  environment  —  which  spanned  the 
river  a  few  yards  below  the  little  spit  of  rock,  ending 
the  steps,  on  which  the  more  modern  temple  sacred  to 
Kali,  Shiva's  consort,  had  been  built.  But  something 
more  modern  still  found  foothold  on  that  same  spit  of 
rock,  though  further  out,  hidden  below  the  levels  of  the 
river.     This  was  the  first  pier  of  the  railway  bridge. 


THE    TEMPLE   OF   VISESHVVAR  II5 

from  which  the  two  drawbridges  —  one  towards  the 
town,  the  other  towards  the  river  —  were  worked;  thus 
securing  the  passage  against  attack  from  either  side. 
The  pier  itself  rose  sheer  from  the  water,  a  solid  block 
of  masonry,  and  was  prolonged  into  a  tower,  gated  at 
each  end. 

Chris,  picturing  it  in  his  mind's  eye,  thought  how 
quaint  a  neighbour  it  was  even  to  Kali's  temple,  though 
her  cult  could  not  claim  the  mystery,  the  significance,  of 
the  other.  Hers  was  the  cult  of  ignorance,  of  terror; 
and  his  — 

He  was  a  Smarrta  Brahmin  by  birth,  and  as  he  sat 
there  in  the  darkness,  thinking  of  that  upright  stone  — 
severe,  rigid  in  its  mysticism  —  and  then  of  the  many- 
armed,  blood-stained  idol  in  the  temple  beyond,  a  proud 
e.xultation  in  his  own  priesthood  to  the  older  cult  surged 
up  in  him. 

He  had  almost  forgotten  his  birthright,  forgotten  that 
he  had  been  called  by  God  to  a  place  of  honour  —  to  the 
place  of  teacher ;  that  his  was  the  right  to  explain  the 
mystery  to  the  people,  to  show  them  the  way  of  salvation. 

But  he  remembered  it  now,  and  all  insensibly  a  balm 
came  to  his  pain  from  the  knowledge  of  what  lay  about 
him,  unseen,  yet  familiar.  He  sat,  listening  to  the  lap 
of  the  river  on  the  foot-worn  steps,  picturing  to  himself 
its  fringe  of  dead  flower  petals  from  the  dead  day's 
worship ;  and  even  the  stir  in  the  vague  shadow  of  the 
pipal  trees,  telling  of  the  sacred  monkeys  who  with  the 
dawn  would  descend  to  claim  their  share  of  offerings 
with  the  gods,  seemed  to  still  his  own  restlessness. 

And  as  he  listened,  feeling,  more  than  thinking,  the 
asceticism  of  many  a  holy  ancestor  who  had  left  the 
world  behind  to  follow  his  ideal  of  good,  rose  up  in 
suggestion  that  he  should  do  so  also. 

Why  not.-*  Why  not  claim  his  inherited  right  of 
sainthood  in  order  to  preach  his  doctrine }  Was  not 
that,  after  all,  the  only  thing  worth  doing  in  this  life } 
Was  not  this  the  only  reality .''  Was  not  all  else 
^^  Maya'"  or  deception  } 


Il6  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Such  glimpses  of  the  real  beyond  the  unreal  come  to 
most  of  us  at  times,  making  us  feel  the  spin  of  the 
round  world  we  have  deemed  so  steady  beneath  our 
feet,  making  us  feel  the  fixity  of  the  stars  above  us, 
the  mysterious  denial  of  sunset,  the  illimitable  promise 
of  dawn. 

And  when  they  come,  peace  comes  with  them. 

It  came  to  Krishn  Davenund,  making  him  forget  the 
red  Hammersmith  omnibus  and  all  things  pertaining 
thereto,  as  he  sat  feeling  the  familiar  touch  of  the 
darkness,  until  in  the  east,  beyond  the  river,  the  grey 
glimmer  of  coming  light  in  the  sky  showed  him  the 
curved  shadow  of  the  world's  horizon,  and  after  a  time 
the  grey  glimmer  of  the  curved  river  came  to  show  him 
the  straight  shadow  of  the  temple. 

Then,  in  the  vague  light,  he  stood  up,  with  a  vague 
light  in  his  mind  also.  As  he  did  so,  something  fell 
from  his  arm.  It  was  his  wife's  shawl,  which  he  had 
been  carrying  unconsciously  all  the  time.  As  he  picked 
it  up,  the  coincidence  of  its  faint  pinkish  colour  banished 
the  regret  which  came  to  him  at  having  forgotten  to 
give  it  her  ere  leaving.  For  this  was  yogi  colour,  so 
called  because  it  is  worn  by  all  ascetics. 

His  English  wife  had  admired  the  delicate  salmon- 
pink,  and  he  had  therefore  had  her  white  Rampore 
shawl  dyed  that  tint.  Strange  indeed !  A  thousand 
times  strange,  that  this  should  be  close  to  his  hand 
now! 

The  cue  thus  given  was  followed,  and  with  a  passion 
which  stifled  his  sense  of  bathos,  he  was  the  next  instant 
throwing  off  his  dress-clothes.  So,  with  the  thin,  fine 
shawl  about  his  nakedness,  he  passed  down  the  steps 
towards  the  river,  towards  the  sacrament  of  his  race 
and  caste. 

The  chill  touch  of  the  water  sent  his  hot  blood  to 
heart  and  brain.  He  could  scarcely  keep  his  voice  to 
the  orthodox  whisper,  as  he  began  the  secret  ritual 
which  he  had  not  repeated  for  years  — 


THE    TEMPLE    OF  VISESHWAR  WJ 

^•■Oml     Earth  I     Air  I     Heaven'.     0ml 
Let  us  worship  the  supreme  splendour  of  the  Sun. 
May  his  light  lighten  our  darkness." 

The  words  blent  with  the  silvery  tinkle  of  the  water 
falling  back  from  his  upraised  hands,  and  at  the  famil- 
iar sound  a  stir  came  from  the  branches  of  the  pipal 
trees  behind  him ;  and  from  the  shadowy  water  below 
them  a  couple  of  shelldrakes  sailed  out,  with  their  echo- 
ing cry,  to  the  lighter  level  before  him. 

The  sound  of  that  first  libation  to  the  gods  had 
awakened  the  temple  world. 

As  yet,  however,  he  and  nature  had  worship  to 
themselves. 

Therefore,  waist  deep  in  the  water,  he  stood  free  to 
dream  once  more  that  he  was  twice  born,  regenerate, 
raised  high  above  the  herd. 

Yet  free  also  to  return  to  the  new  ways  if  he  chose, 
since  there  was  none  to  see,  as  yet  — 

But  ere  he  had  finished  the  ritual,  an  old  man,  still 
half  asleep,  came  yawning  down  the  steps,  carrying  a 
tray  of  little  platters  filled  with  coloured  powders.  Hav- 
ing reached  the  water's  very  edge,  he  set  these  in  a  row, 
and  kept  an  eye  on  Chris ;  for  he  was  the  pujari  of  the 
temple,  with  the  right,  for  a  small  fee,  to  re-mark  the 
bathers  with  their  proper  caste  marks. 

"What  race,  my  son  .-* "  he  asked  drowsily,  as  Chris 
came  up  out  of  the  river. 

The  question  sent  a  vast  pride  through  the  young 
man.  With  bare  limbs  scarce  hidden  by  the  dripping 
shawl,  he  stood  hesitating  for  a  brief  second,  and  then 
squatted  down  beside  the  familiar  earthen  platters. 

"  Brahmin.     Shiv-bak/it,'"  ^  he  said. 

The  old  man  salaamed  ere  reaching  for  the  sacred 
white  gypsum,  which  is  brought  from  the  snows  of 
Amar-nath ;  and  once  more  that  pride  of  race  swept 
through  the  soul  whose  body  awaited  its  sign  of  election. 

But  the  swift  cold  touch  on  his  forehead  which  fol- 

1  Worshipper  of  Shiva. 


Il8  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

lowed  woke  Chris  to  realities,  to  the  question  "  Do  I 
mean  it  ?  "  And  the  whispering  kiss  of  other  bare  feet 
upon  the  steps  warned  him  that,  if  he  wished  time  for 
deliberation,  he  must  remove  his  tell-tale  garments  of 
civihsation  before  the  light  made  them  manifest.  If 
these  were  hidden  away,  he  himself,  in  his  yogi  coloured 
shawl,  could  easily  pass  muster;  especially  if  he  re- 
treated to  the  least-frequented  part  of  the  steps,  where 
they  ended  in  a  ruined  wall,  split  by  the  pipal  tree 
roots. 

Here,  then,  he  found  some  convenient  crevices  for  his 
clothes,  and  after  spreading  his  shawl  to  dry  in  ortho- 
dox fashion,  sat  down  beside  it  in  the  recognised  atti- 
tude of  meditation,  his  arms  crossed  on  his  knees,  his 
chin  resting  on  them.  He  was  not  likely  to  be  recog- 
nised, even  by  broad  daylight;  for  the  companions  of 
his  later  years  were  not  of  those  who  worship. 

He  would  have  leisure  therefore  to  think,  to  decide. 
But  once  more  he  reckoned  without  himself,  without 
the  swift  response  of  his  senses  to  the  once  familiar 
sights  and  sounds.  The  causeless  laughter  of  women 
filling  their  water-pots,  the  tinkle  of  their  anklets,  the 
cries  of  the  flower-sellers,  the  ceaseless  splash  of  water 
falling  on  water,  the  very  leapings  and  chatterings  of 
the  monkeys,  putting  off  time  in  play  till  the  bathings 
should  end  in  offerings  —  all  these  made  connected 
thought  impossible,  while  eyes  and  ears  were  open. 

In  despair  at  last,  he  flung  the  half-dried  shawl  over 
his  head,  stuffed  his  fingers  into  his  ears,  and,  leaning 
back  against  a  tree-trunk,  tried  to  forget  where  he  was ; 
tried  not  to  feel  those  white  bars  on  his  forehead  which 
seemed  to  burn  into  his  brain.  But,  in  the  effort  to 
answer  that  question,  "Shall  I  go  or  stay  .-^ "  the  effort 
to  remember  and  yet  to  forget,  he  fell  into  dreamland ; 
finally  into  sleep.  And  as  he  slept  Fate  took  the  answer 
into  her  own  hands,  and  turned  his  tragedy  into  comedy ; 
for  a  small  and  curious  monkey  who  had  watched  the 
secretion  of  those  dress-clothes  from  afar,  took  advan- 
tage of  his  slumbers  to  creep  down  stealthily  to  a  crev- 


THE    TEMPLE    OF   VISESHWAR  II9 

ice,  and  make  off  with  its  contents  —  namely,  a  pair  of 
trousers ! 

The  monkey,  however,  being  small,  was  soon  dis- 
possessed of  his  prize  ;  a  bigger  one  claimed  it,  and  sent 
the  first  owner  to  whimper  and  gibber  indignation  from 
the  topmost  branches,  and  then  grin  fiendishly  as  a  yet 
bigger  one  despoiled  Jiis  despoiler.  And  so,  unerringly, 
the  garment  of  culture  passed  to  the  stronger,  till  the 
biggest  old  male  of  the  lot,  after  inspecting  every  seam 
and  trying  to  crack  every  button,  conceived  that  it  must 
be  some  kind  of  adornment,  and,  after  hanging  the  legs, 
stolewise,  in  front,  the  seat,  cloakwise,  behind,  crossed  its 
arms  over  its  stomach,  feeling  satisfied  it  had  solved  that 
problem. 

Meanwhile,  Chris  had  awakened  to  the  impossibility 
of  remaining  where  he  was ;  for  even  his  brief  return  to 
the  normal  in  sleep  had  been  sufficient  to  convince  him 
of  the  hopelessness  of  attempting  to  return  to  that  older 
standpoint.  So,  the  day  having  advanced  with  the  giant 
strides  of  an  Indian  dawn,  he  rose  to  retrieve  his  clothes, 
and  sneak  off  with  them  to  some  quiet  spot. 

As  he  did  so,  however,  the  sight  of  some  one  standing 
just  above  him  made  him  squat  down  again  and  cover 
himself  once  more  with  the  shawl.  For  it  was  his  new 
foreman  of  works,  John  Ellison,  who  from  the  top  of  the 
steps  was  looking  down  affably,  nodding  to  the  old  p?tj a ri 
(who  had  by  this  time  a  circle  of  customers  awaiting  hall 
mark),  and  humming  the  baptismal  hymn  which  begins, 
"  In  token  that  thou  shalt  not  fear,"  between  the  salu- 
tations of  "  Ra}}i-ravi "  (pronounced  with  a  short  a) 
which  he  showered  on  the  bathers  as  they  passed  and 
repassed. 

*'  'Tis  Jan-Ali-shan,"  said  one  in  answer  to  a  question 
from  a  stranger.     "  He  feeds  the  monkeys." 

"And  when  Sri  Hunuman's  monkeys  are  fed  by  him, 
the  feasting  of  Sri  Yama's^  crocodiles  is  not  far  off," 
put  in  a  listener,  emphas^ising  his  allusion  to  the  God  of 
Death  by  a  placid  look  towards  a  tinsel-bound  corpse 

^  The  king  of  death;   his  emblem  is  a  crocodile,  i.e.  death  will  be  busy. 


I20  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

swung  to  a  bamboo,  which  two  men  were  carrying  slant- 
ways  across  the  steps  to  the  burning  place  below  the  rail- 
way bridge. 

More  than  one  amongst  the  bathers,  overhearing  the 
remark,  nodded  assent,  and  looked  with  a  vague  fear  at 
the  loafer  who  had  seated  himself  a  few  steps  down,  and 
taken  off  his  battered  billy-cock ;  for  being  Sunday  he 
was  off  duty  and  uniform. 

^'  Ram-j'cunJ'  he  said,  with  a  general  wave  of  the  hand. 
"  So  it's  the  old  game  still.  Sunlight  soap,  monkey 
brand,  and  Ai  copper-bottomed  at  Lloyd's  doing  a  fire 
insurance !  Lordy  Lord !  I  might  'ave  bin  'ere  last 
Sunday,  instead  o'  last  year.  An'  'ow's  Mr.  'Oney- 
man } " 

The  last  word,  intended  for  Hunuman,  evidently  con- 
veyed a  meaning  to  the  whole  remark,  for  many  faces 
grinned,  and  the  old  pujdri  salaamed  with  all  the  diffi- 
cult gravity  of  a  child  who  knows  some  time-worn  jest 
is  nigh. 

"  Sri  Hunuman  hath  been  well,  since  the  Hticoor  fed 
him  on  quinine  pills  hid  in  Sh\\-jees  raisins  last  year. 
Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  that  was  a  spectacle  !  " 

A  priest  with  a  trident  on  his  forehead  chuckled  too. 
"  Yea  !  he  is  strong.  He  stole  the  sugar  yesterday  from 
Mai  Kali's  very  lap.  Lo  !  even  the  monkeys  know  that 
offerings  should  be  left  at  Shiv-yV^'s  feet !  " 

He  spoke  at  a  group  of  villagers  who,  in  tow  of  a  rival 
priest,  were  taking  their  offerings  to  the  further  temple. 

John  ElHson  laughed. 

'••'Ow  'appy  could  I  be  with  either,'" 

he  chanted.  "  Wot !  Ain't  Shiver  and  Kali  settled  that 
'  biz '  yet  ?  W'y  don't  they  get  a  divorce  for  bigamy 
both  sides  ?  Not  as  I  care  a  d — n,"  —  he  went  on  in  his 
vile  lingo  in  which  all  was  English  save  the  nouns  and 
verbs,  the  latter  having  but  one  tense  —  the  imperative. 
"  Siree  'Oneyman's  my  fancy.  He  as  'its  'im  'its  me, 
Jan-Ali-shan.  An'  let  me  tell  you  that  ain't  no  'amstki 
bat}     It's  ziilvi  ?a\'  fickcr  an'  bitrra  bnrra  ajfut!" 

1  Hansi-ki-bat,  lit.  smiling  word. 


THE    TEMPLE    OF   VISESHVVAR  121 

These  astounding-  equivalents  for  tyranny,  trouble,  and 
great  misfortune,  he  used  with  intent ;  for  he  liked  to 
trade  on  his  reputation  as  a  bird  of  ill-omen.  "  Mean- 
while," he  continued,  chucking  z.  pice  to  the  pujdri  with 
that  extreme  affability  which  made  evei^  the  most  alarmed 
exclude  him,  personally,  from  any  share  in  the  coming 
evil,  "seeing  as  I  v/as  branded  Ai  as  a  babby  I  won't 
trouble  you  agin,  sonny ;  but  there's  your  fee  all  the 
same.     So  now  for  Siree  'Oneyman !  " 

He  drew  out  a  paper  of  sugar  drops  as  he  spoke,  and, 
scattering  some  on  the  steps,  began  to  sing 

"  Click,  click  ! 
Like  a  monkey  on  a  stick." 

The  effect  was  magical.  Every  leaf  of  the  pipals 
rustled  as  the  monkeys,  recognising  his  call,  swung  them- 
selves downward  from  branch  to  branch. 

The  bathers  paused,  full  of  smiles  for  this  common 
interest  shown  by  one  of  the  aliens  who  are  so  often 
far  beyond  their  simplicity. 

Even  Chris  could  not  help  a  smile,  despite  the  anxiety 
he  was  in,  as  he  watched  the  monkeys  close  in  on  the 
sugar  drops,  quarrelling,  pouching,  reaching  round  with 
all  four  paws  :  with  the  exception  of  one  monkey,  a  very 
large  male,  which,  coming  lamentably  last,  only  used 
three ;  the  fourth,  meanwhile,  clutching  convulsively  at 
its  stomach. 

"  W'y,  'Oneyman  }  "  came  John  Ellison's  mellow  voice, 
full  of  sympathy,  "  w'ot's  up,  sonny  .''  Got  the  cramps  ? 
—  ate  somethin'  yer  don't  like.''"  —  he  paused,  stared  — 
"  W'y  !  w'otever  "  —  he  paused  again,  and  out  of  the  ful- 
ness of  his  bewilderment  wandered  off  helplessly  into 

"  She  wore  a  wreath  of  roses." 

But  poor  Chris,  far  off  as  he  was,  had  grasped  the 
truth  and  turned  hot  and  cold,  long  before  Jan-Ali-shan 
said  in  an  awed  whisper  — 

"  Wherever  in  the  nation  du;^  ole  'Oneyman  raise  them 
dress  bags.'"    He  turned  to  the  bystanders  appealingly 


122  VOICES  LV   THE  NIGHT 

as  he  spoke,  but  their  faces,  as  they  gathered  round  in 
a  circle,  echoed  his  own  surprise. 

"  Well,  I  am  dashed !  "  he  said  softly ;  "  this  beats 
cock-fightin'." 

It  did,  for  Sri  Hunuman  having  by  this  time  grasped 
the  fact  that  dignity  was  incompatible  with  dinner,  had 
thrown  the  former  aside,  and  having  rolled  the  trousers 
hastily  into  a  ball,  had  sat  down  on  it,  as  on  a  cushion, 
while  he  reached  round  for  sugar  drops  with  both  paws. 
Whereupon  the  original  thief,  thinking  he  saw  an  oppor- 
tunity, made  a  snatch  at  the  braces,  which  still  streamed 
over  the  steps.  To  no  purpose,  however,  since  'Oney- 
man  only  clapped  both  paws  behind,  and,  the  cushion 
still  in  sitti,  hopped  to  another  place. 

A  roar  of  amusement  echoed  out  over  the  steps,  and  half- 
a-dozen  youngsters,  fired  with  ambition,  tried  the  same 
game  ;  also  without  success.  Sri  Honeyman  eluded  every 
clutch,  even  the  despairing  one  which  Chris,  muffled  to 
the  eyes  in  his  ascetic's  shawl,  laid  on  those  streaming 
braces.  They  came  off  in  his  hands  to  the  crowd's  huge 
delight. 

"Art,  brother,  thou  hast  the  tail  anyhow!  "  said  some 
in  congratulation,  but  poor  Chris  cursed  inwardly.  What 
were  braces  without  the  trousers  to  wear  with  them .'' 

John  Ellison,  meanwhile,  half  choked  with  laughter, 
and  drunk  with  mirth,  w^as  rolling  about,  kicking  legs 
and  arms,  and  shouting,  "Go  it,  'Oneyman !  Go  it, 
sonny ! "  until  from  some  of  the  disappointed  came  the 
murmur  that  Jan-Ali-shan  had  better  try  and  get  the 
trousers  himself,  though  all  Mai  Kali's  priests  with  sticks 
and  staves  had  not  been  equal  to  making  the  old  monkey 
give  up  the  sugar !  On  this  he  rose  breathlessly  and 
looked  round. 

"You  bet,"  he  said,  "it's  Rule  Britannier,  that's  w'ot 
it  is."  Whereupon  he  took  another  paper  bag  of  sugar 
drops  from  his  pocket  and  walked  up  to  the  culprit. 

"  SJiab-basJi !  'Oneyman,"  he  said,  with  his  usual  affa- 
bility, "you  done  that  uncommon  well.  If  ever  you're  in 
want  of  the  shiny,  they'd  give  you  a  fiver  for  that  inter- 


THE    TEMPLE    OF   VISESHWAR  123 

lood  at  a  music  'all.  But  time's  up,  sonny.  Your  turn's 
over.  So  just  you  change  bags  like  a  good  boy  or"  — 
The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  a  melodious  whistling  of 

"  Britons  never,  never  will  be  slaves," 

a  dexterous  emptying  of  the  bribe,  and  an  equally 
dexterous  clutch  at  the  trousers,  accompanied  by  a 
forcible  kick  behind.  The  three  combined  were  in- 
stantly successful,  and  there  was  Jan-Ali-shan  care- 
fully dusting  his  new  possession.  Then  he  held  them 
up,  and  said  suavely  — 

"  Fair  exchange  ain't  no  robbery ;  but  if  any  gent 
owns  these  pants,  let  'im  utter" — -which  remark  he 
translated  in  hideous  Hindustani  into  ^^  Koi  admi  upna 
breeches  hai,  boh  !  " 

For  one  short  second  Chris  felt  inclined  to  brave  the 
situation.  Then,  as  usual,  he  hesitated  ;  so  the  moment 
of  salvation  passed.  John  Ellison  rolled  up  his  prize, 
put  them  under  his  arm,  and  with  a  general  "  Rani-ravi  " 
to  the  bystanders,  and  an  affectionate  wave  of  the  hand 
to  old  'Oneyman,  walked  off  cheerily  whistling, 

"This  is  no  my  plaid,  my  plaid,  my  plaid.'' 

Chris  looked  after  him  helplessly,  then  went  back  to 
his  tree  hopelessly.  He  could  not  return  home,  by 
broad  daylight,  in  any  possible  permutation  or  combina- 
tion of  a  swallow-tailed  coat  and  a  devotee's  dhoti.  The 
only  thing  to  be  done  was  to  wait  for  kindly  concealing 
night. 

Being  Sunday,  he  would  not  be  missed  till  noon,  for 
his  wife  was  a  late  riser.  Even  then  she  would  not  be 
alarmed ;  indeed,  he  had  often  stayed  out  all  day  with- 
out her  taking  the  trouble  to  ask  where  he  had  been. 
That  thought  decided  him  to  stay  where  and  as  he  was. 
Besides,  despite  the  shameful  absurdity  of  the  cause, 
the  result  was  in  a  way,  pleasant.  It  was  something  to 
be  sent  back  without  responsibility  to  the  old  life  even 
for  a  few  hours,  and  a  spirit  of  adventure  woke  in  him 
as  he  remembered  the  things   possible  to  one  of  his 


124  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

caste.  Any  one,  for  instance,  would  feed  a  Brahmin ; 
and  so,  after  secreting  the  remainder  of  his  clothes 
beyond  the  reach  of  monkeys  under  a  heap  of  the 
ruined  wall,  until  he  found  an  opportunity  of  removing 
them  altogether,  he  set  off  boldly  to  beg  breakfast  in 
the  city.  The  sun,  now  high  in  the  heavens,  smote  on 
his  bare  limbs  —  so  long  unaccustomed  to  the  warm 
stimulating  caress  —  with  all  the  intoxication  of  a  new 
physical  pleasure.  But  there  was  another  touch,  still 
more  stimulating,  which  came  to  him  first  in  a  narrow 
side  street  close  to  the  city  gate ;  a  street  all  sun  and 
shade  in  bars,  with  women's  chatter,  women's  laughter 
echoing  from  within  the  courtyard  doors.  Doors  all 
closed  save  this,  the  first,  which  had  opened  at  his  cry 
for  alms,  to  let  a  woman's  hand  slip  through.  That 
reverent  touch  on  his  palm,  so  soft,  so  kind ;  that 
glimpse  of  a  full  petticoat,  a  jewel-covered  throat,  made 
his  brain  reel  with  recollection,  his  heart  leap  with  the 
possibilities  it  suggested.  How  many  years  was  it  since 
he  had  seen  a  Brahmin  woman  worshipping  her  hu.s- 
band  .'*  That  had  been  his  mother,  and  he  might  have 
had  such  a  wife  as  she  had  been  to  his  father,  if  he  had 
chosen  ;  almost,  if  he  chose. 

The  suggestion  repelled  yet  attracted  him,  and,  after 
a  time,  half  in  curiosity,  half  in  affection,  he  turned  his 
steps  to  the  well-remembered  alley  where  his  mother 
still  lived.  He  had  been  to  see  her,  of  course,  when  he 
first  returned  to  India,  but  inevitably  as  an  alien;  and 
after  his  refusal  to  do  penance,  he  had  not  gone  at  all. 
She  had,  in  fact,  refused  to  receive  him.  So  his  heart 
beat  as  he  stood  muffled  in  his  devotee's  drapery  before 
the  door,  through  which  he  had  so  often  passed  to  wor- 
ship clinging  to  her  skirts,  and  gave  his  beggar's  cry  — 

"  Alakk!  for  Shiv's  sake." 

There  was  no  need  to  repeat  it ;  for  this  was  a  pious 
house.  The  low  door  opened  wide,  and  a  young  girl 
held  out  an  alms  with  the  mechanical  precision  of  prac- 
tice. 

"For  Shiv's  sake,"  she  echoed  monotonously,  "and 


THE    TEMPLE    OF    VISESHWAR  1 25 

for  the  sake  of  a  son  who  has  wandered  from  the  true 
fold." 

Her  voice  held  no  trace  of  feeling,  but  Chris  fell  back 
with  a  stifled  cry.  For  he  knew  what  the  words  meant; 
knew  that  he  was  the  wanderer. 

So,  for  a  second,  the  girl  stood  surprised,  hesitating. 
She  was  extraordinarily  beautiful.  A  slender  slip  of  a 
girl  about  fourteen,  with  a  long  round  throat  poising  the 
delicate  oval  of  her  face,  and  black  lashes  sweeping  to 
meet  the  bar  of  her  brows  above  her  soft  velvety  eyes. 
There  was  a  likeness  still  to  the  little  orphan  cousin  who 
had  come  to  make  one  more  mouth  to  feed  in  the  patri- 
archal household  when  he  was  a  big  boy  just  keen  for 
college  :  the  girl-child  over  whom  his  mother  had  smiled 
mysteriously,  and  talked  of  the  years  to  come  when  the 
head  of  the  house  would  have  had  his  fill  of  education 
for  his  boy,  and  permit  marriage.  YeSj^  this  was  she, 
his  cousin,  little  Naraini. 

"There  is  naught  amiss,  my  lord,"  she  said  suddenly, 
drawing  back  in  her  turn  with  an  offended  air.  "  I  too 
am  Brahmin,  my  hand  is  pure." 

So,  indignantly,  she  dropped  her  alms  of  parched 
wheat  into  the  gutter,  and  slammed  the  door. 

Chris,  down  on  his  knees,  his  blood  on  fire,  picked 
every  grain  up,  and  then,  his  head  in  a  greater  whirl 
than  ever,  made  his  way  back  to  the  river  steps,  to  his 
hidden  clothes,  to  the  last  hold  he  had  on  Western  life 
and  thought. 

The  steps  were  almost  deserted  in  the  noontide ; 
therefore,  wearied  out  with  his  vigil  of  the  night  and 
the  excitement  of  the  day,  he  lay  down  deliberately  to 
sleep,  feeling  even  this  —  this  possibility  of  going  to  bed 
without  one  —  to  be  a  relief  after  all  the  paraphernalia 
of  pillows,  mattresses,  blankets,  and  sheets. 

When  he  woke,  the  sun  had  begun  to  sink,  and  the 
stream  of  worship  was  setting  templewards  again.  But 
the  crowd  was  a  different  one ;  more  temporal,  less 
spiritual.  More  eager  for  gossip,  less  concerned  with 
salvation ;  and  Chris,  who  had  gained  confidence  in  his 


126  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

disguise  by  this  time,  left  the  shadow  of  the  trees  in 
order  to  listen  to  the  talk.  Even  to  such  as  he,  it  was 
an  opportunity  of  gauging  the  mind  of  the  multitude, 
which  did  not  often  present  itself  ;  and,  being  refreshed 
by  his  long  sleep,  he  saw  clearly  that  he,  personally, 
might  find  this  a  useful  experience. 

The  wildness  of  the  rumours  current,  however,  the 
absurdity  of  the  beliefs  he  heard  put  forward,  were 
beyond  his  patience,  and  more  than  once  he  drew  down 
an  unwelcome  interest  in  himself  by  his  fiat  denials. 

His  disguise,  however  — if  it  could  be  called  a  dis- 
guise seeing  that  he  was,  indeed,  what  he  professed  to 
be  —  held  out,  and  so,  by  degrees,  he  grew  bolder ; 
telling  himself  that  the  day  would  not  be  lost  if  he 
could  begin  to  practise  what  he  had  preached  in  Shark 
Lane,  and  raise  his  voice  for  the  truth's  sake. 

It  was  not,  however,  till  the  first  twinkling  lights  of 
the  evening  service  showed  in  the  temples,  and  the  red 
and  green  signals  on  the  railway  bridge  answered  the 
challenge,  that  he  found  himself  in  the  position  he  had 
advocated ;  that  is  one  in  opposition  to  many. 

He  did  not  shrink  from  the  situation  when  it  came ; 
he  had  too  much  grit  for  that. 

"  It  is  a  lie,"  he  reasserted,  and  turning  to  the  larger 
crowd  beyond  the  listening  few,  raised  his  voice. 

"  Listen,  friends,  and  I  will  tell  you  why  it  is  not  true 
that  this  golden  paper  fell  from  Heaven  into  Kali's 
temple.  Why,  her  priests  lie  when  they  say  it  did. 
Listen,  for  I  am  Brahmin.  I  know  the  gods  and  their 
ways,  and  I  know  the  Huzoors  and  their  ways  also." 

"  Who  is  the  lad  .-•  he  speaks  well,"  passed  in  murmurs 
among  the  crowd  which  closed  in  to  see  and  hear  better. 
Chris  pulled  himself  together  as  he  stood,  his  figure 
showing  clear  against  the  light  that  lingered  on  the 
river. 

"  Who  am  I  }  "  he  echoed.  "  Listen,  and  I  will  tell 
you ;  I  am  twice  born,  regenerate  —  a  Brahmin  of  the 
Brahmins." 

There   was    sudden    stir    in    the  crowd,  a   murmur, 


THE    TEMPLE    OF   VISESHVVAR  12/ 

"Let  her  pass  —  she  knows."  And  then  in  that  clear 
space  where  he  stood,  a  woman  stood  also  ;  a  Hindoo 
widow,  with  bare  arm  uplifted  from  her  white  shroud. 

"  Lie  not,  Krishn  Davenund  !  "  she  said.  "Thou  art 
outcast,  accursed  !  I,  thy  mother,  say  it."  The  face, 
clear  cut,  pale  Avith  continued  fasting,  showed  no  pain, 
no  regret,  only  stern  reproof.  "  Thou  art  no  twice  born 
now.  Oh!  son  of  my  desolation,"  she  went  on,  her 
voice  shrilling  as  she  spoke,  "thou  art  twice  dead.  Go 
back  to  thy  new  ways,  to  thy  new  wife !  " 

A  sudden  stretch  of  her  hand  towards  the  scarlet-clad 
young  girl,  shrinking  by  her  side,  told  its  tale  of  some- 
thing more  bitter  than  bigotry ;  of  a  mother's  jealousy. 

Chris,  who  had  fallen  back  from  that  unexpected 
betrayal,  gave  a  hasty  glance  round,  and  what  he  saw 
in  the  faces  of  the  crowd  made  him  reahse  his  position. 

"  Hush,  mother !  "  he  began  ;  but  it  was  too  late. 

Her  story  was  well  known  among  the  priests.  They 
were  in  arms  at  once,  and,  ere  a  minute  passed,  Chris 
found  himself  at  bay,  ankle  deep  in  the  water  into  which 
he  had  been  driven,  his  back  against  the  sacred  temple 
of  Viseshwar :  so  adding  to  his  crime  by  its  defilement. 

"  Listen  !  "  he  called. 

But  the  crowd  were  already  past  that,  and  the  cries 
"  He  is  a  spy !  "  "  He  hath  defiled  us !  "  "Whom  hath 
he  not  touched  .?  "  "He  hath  been  here  all  day !  "  "  He 
is  sent  to  make  us  Christians  !  "  rose  on  all  sides. 

Chris,  his  back  to  the  temple,  set  his  teeth.  Beyond 
the  crowd,  that  was  kept  at  a  yard's  distance  yet  by 
something  in  his  face,  he  could  see  two  women,  scarlet 
and  white  robed,  sobbing  in  each  other's  arms,  and  the 
sight  made  him  savage  for  their  pain. 

"  How  can  I  defile  you  1 "  he  cried  ;  "  I  am  Brahmin. 
Yonder  is  my  mother.  My  father  all  know.  Who 
dares  to  take  my  birthright  from  me.'  " 

"  Who  .-^  thyself !  "  came  viciously  from  the  foremost 
row  of  priests.  "Where  is  thy  sacred  thread,  apos- 
tate }  " 

Chris  flinched  for  the  first  time.     It  was  true.     In  a 


128  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

fit  of  anger  when  his  own  received  him  not,  he  had 
removed  the  badge  of  the  twice-born  with  his  own  hands. 
So  he  had  nothing  to  which  he  could  appeal.  Nothing 
old  or  new  ! 

"  Listen  !  "  he  began  again  helplessly,  and  the  crowd 
feeling  the  helplessness  surged  closer. 

"  Kill  him !  "  said  one  voice,  dominating  the  others 
by  the  very  simplicity  of  its  advice.  "He  is, nothing. 
He  is  not  of  us,  nor  of  the  Huzoors.  Who  wants 
him.?" 

Another  instant  and  the  advice  might  have  been 
followed  had  not  some  one  claimed  poor  Chris  —  had 
not  a  voice  from  behind  said  softly  — 

"Well!  I'm  dashed  if  it  ain't  the  guv'nor !  Now 
then  !  you  niggers  !  " 

The  next  instant,  with  a  plentiful  if  quite  good-natured 
use  of  heels  and  elbows,  Chris  Davenant's  foreman  of 
works  was  through  the  crowd  into  the  water,  and  so, 
facing  round  on  those  threatening  faces,  was  backing 
towards  Chris,  and  making  furious  feints  with  his  fists 
the  while. 

^^ Ram-ram,  gents,"  he  said  affably.  "Now,  w'ot 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  tell  me  w'ot  all  this  is  about. 
W'ot  are  you  doin'  to  my  guv'nor }  Don't  you  speak, 
sir ! "  he  added  in  a  hasty  whisper.  "  I  don't  really 
want  to  know  nothing.  You  and  me's  got  to  get  out  o' 
this  galley,  thet's  all.  An'  if  we  don't,"  he  continued 
philosophically,  "  you'll  'ave  to  explain  up  top,  and  I  kin 
listen  then.  Them  kind  o'  words  ain't  no  use  down 
'ere.     Lem'me  speak  mine  !  " 

With  that  he  ceased  sparring,  walked  two  paces  for- 
wards in  the  water,  put  his  hands  in  his  trousers- 
pockets,  and  began  on  his  lingo  coolly  — 

''Dekko  (look  here),  you  want  this  ddmi  iycv-SiXv)  abhi 
(now),  but  you  ain't  goin'  to  get  'im.  Tnmhara  nahin 
(not  yours).  He's  mine,  mcra  ddmi  (my  man),  s?imjha  ? 
(do  you  understand .'')  If  you  want  luiro  (fight),  come 
on.  You  shall  'ave  a  bellyful,  an'  there'll  be  a  plenty 
on  you  to  phcinsi  (hang).     But  w'ot  I  say  is,  don't  be 


THE    TEMPLE    OF    VISESHWAR  1 29 

pargul  soors  (foolish  pigs).  I  don't  do  your  bally  ole 
temples  any  'arm.  It's  ' durin  sJiaster  ram-rant^  an' 
Jmrry  giinga,'  so  far's  I  care.  But  this  man's  my  guv'- 
nor.  You  don't  touch  'im.  Ktibhi  naJiin  (never).  I'm 
a  nek  ddini,  burra  iisscel  (virtuous  man,  very  gentle) 
w'en  I'm  took  the  right  way ;  contrariwise  I'm  ziibn 
an'  ficker  an'  burra  biu-ra  affiit.  Now  you  ask  ole 
'Oneyman  if  I  ain't.  'E  knows  both  sides  o'  Jan-Ali- 
shan,  and  'e'll  give  'is  opinion,  like  the  gen'leman  'e 
is." 

He  paused,  for  an  idea,  a  chance  had  suggested  itself. 
Then  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  with  a  devil-may-care  lilt 
in  it,  he  began  — 

"  Click,  click 
Like  a  monkey  on  a  stick." 

The  answer  followed  in  a  second.  With  rustHngs 
and  boundings  the  monkeys  came  to  the  rescue  of  the 
familiar  voice ;  for  the  crowd  behind,  weary  of  being 
unable  to  see  what  was  passing  in  front,  turned  instinc- 
tively to  the  new  interest,  and  so,  losing  cohesion,  the 
multitude  lost  unity  of  purpose  also  for  the  moment. 

"  Now's  your  time,  sir,"  shouted  John  Ellison  ;  "  keep 
close  to  me !  "     Then  with  a  wild  yell  of 

"  Clear  the  decks,  comrades," 

he  rushed  head  down  at  the  fat  stomach  of  the  chief 
priest,  bowled  him  over,  and  treating  the  rest  as  he 
would  have  treated  a  crush  at  football,  found  himself, 
with  Chris  at  his  heels,  on  the  top  of  the  steps  almost 
before  the  crowd  had  realised  what  was  happening. 

"  Pull  up,  sir,"  he  said,  pausing  breathlessly  ;  "  never 
run  a  hinch  more  nor  you  can  'elp  with  niggers.  An' 
they'll  be  all  right  now  we're  off  them  steps.  I  know 
'em !  As  peaceable  a  lot  as  ever  lived,  if  you  don't 
touch  their  wimmin  or  their  gods." 

And  with  that  he  turned  to  the  peaceable  lot  with  his 
usual  urbanity. 

^The  true  faith. 


I30  VOICES  IN   THE   NIGHT 

"Ram-ram,  gents.  I  done  you  no  'arm,  and  you 
done  me  no  'arm.  That's  as  it  should  be.  So  good 
afternoon.  Salaam  alackoom  !  — •  Now  then,  sir,  you 
come  along  to  my  diggin's  an'  get  your  pants." 

But  as  they  hurried  off  to  the  Strangers'  Home,  he 
shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  If  it  hadn't  bin  for  my  bein'  in  a  surplus  chore  seven 
year,  and  so  knowin' 

" '  Lord  a'  mercy ' 

to  the  Ten  Commandments,  and  my  dooty  to  my  neigh- 
bour, you'd  never  a  wore  breeches  agin,  sir,  for  I 
wouldn't  never  'ave  come  back  to  them  steps  with  a 
prick  in  my  conshinse,  sir,  for  fear  as  there  was  more 
in  them  dress  pants  than  meets  the  eye,  as  the  sayin' 
is  ;  though  why  the  nation,  savin'  your  presence,  sir, 
you  come  to  took  'em  off,  beats  me !  " 

Chris  told  him.  Told  him  the  whole  story,  as  he 
might  not,  perhaps,  have  told  a  better  man,  and  John 
Ellison  listened  decorously,  respectfully.  It  was  not 
till  Chris,  attired  in  the  fateful  garments,  with  his  subor- 
dinate's white  uniform  coat  superadded  and  the  devotee's 
shawl  twined  as  a  turban  (since  it  had  not  been  deemed 
feasible  to  recover  the  rest  of  the  dress-suit  that  night), 
was  ready  to  return  to  civilisation,  that  John  Ellison 
ventured  on  a  parting  remark. 

"  It's  the  onsartainty,  sir,  that  does  the  mischief. 
Beer's  beer,  an'  whisky's  whisky.  It's  when  you  come 
to  mixin'  'em  that  you  dun'no  where  you  are.  It  taste 
beastly  to  begin  with,  and  then  it  don't  make  a  chap,  so 
to  speak,  punctooal  drunk.  So  it  throws  'im  out  o' 
reckonin',  and  makes  'im  onsartin  —  an'  that  don't  work 
in 

" '  Hinjia's  coral  strand.' " 


CHAPTER   IX 


UNCERTAINTIES 


There  were  many  people  in  many  parts  of  Nusha- 
pore  that  Sunday  evening  who  were  echoing  Jan-Ali- 
shan's  estimate  of  the  danger  and  discomforts  of 
uncertainty. 

For,  far  and  near,  from  Government  House,  where 
Grace  Arbuthnot  sat  at  the  head  of  a  glittering  dinner- 
table  round  which  half  the  empire-making  bureaucracy 
of  the  province  was  gathered,  to  the  veriest  hovel  on 
the  outcast  outskirts  of  the  city,  where  two  women  — 
the  lowest  of  the  low  —  were  grinding  at  the  mill  for 
their  daily  bread  such  sweepings  of  the  corn-dealers' 
shops  as  they  had  been  able  to  gather  during  the  day, 
the  feeling  that  none  knew  what  the  coming  dawn 
might  bring  to  hovel  and  house,  home  and  country,  and 
people,  lay  heavily,  almost  suffocatingly. 

It  is  a  feeling  which  comes  to  India,  none  can  tell 
how,  or  why.  It  is  in  the  air  like  plague  and  pestilence. 
There  is  no  remedy  for  it,  and  the  fact  that  we  aliens 
have  learnt  to  recognise  its  existence  is  often  the  only 
difference  between  the  vague  unrest  which  dies  away, 
as  it  came,  irrationally,  and  that  which  brought  us  the 
mutiny,  and  which  may,  conceivably,  bring  us  one 
again. 

There  is  only  one  thing  certain  about  this  feehng. 
Whatever  passion,  or  injustice,  or  ignorance,  causes  the 
first  quickened  heart-beat,  it  is  not  long  before,  however 
obscurely,  the  great  problem  of  sex  becomes  involved 
in  the  quarrel  between  East  and  West.  For  there  lies 
the  crux  of  toleration,  of  loyalty. 

So,  with  plague  and  its  inevitable  interference  with 

131 


132  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

domestic  life  looming  before  them,  the  hard-worked 
officials  who  for  six  days  of  the  week  had  borne  the 
heaviest  burden  men  can  bear  —  absolute  executive 
responsibility,  when  the  executive  authority  is  limited  — 
knew  perfectly  well,  as  they  deliberately  tried  to  forget 
that  burden  round  the  dinner-table  at  Government 
House,  that  very  little  would  suffice  to  upset  that 
unstable  equilibrium  of  law  and  order,  which  —  taken 
in  conjunction  with  the  peaceful,  lav/-abiding  tempera- 
ment of  the  people  —  is  so  remarkable  in  India. 

And  there  was  so  much  that  might  conceivably  upset 
it.  To  begin  with,  the  tape  machine  under  lock  and 
key  in  the  private  secretary's  office  next  the  dining- 
room  !  At  any  moment,  in  the  middle  of  a  jest,  or  a 
pate  de  foie  gras,  its  electric  bell  might  begin  to  ring, 
and  the  verdict  of  British  ignorance,  embodied  in  a 
message  from  a  Secretary  of  State,  print  itself  out  in 
obliteration  of  the  verdict  of  practical  experience.  For 
telegrams  had  been  coming  fast  and  frequent  of  late ; 
would  inevitably  come  faster  and  more  frequent  every 
year,  every  month,  every  day,  as  the  lessening  length 
of  time  between  India  and  England  made  the  pulse- 
beats  of  either  audible  to  the  other. 

Then,  every  one  round  the  table  knew  that  those 
days,  those  hours  were,  also  inevitably,  bringing  nearer 
and  nearer  that  quarrel  as  to  whether  cleanliness  comes 
next  to  godliness,  or  godliness  to  cleanliness,  which  has 
yet  to  be  settled  between  East  and  West.  Between  a 
race  which  prides  itself  on  asserting  the  former  in  its 
proverb,  yet  in  its  practice  insists  on  sanitation  and 
leaves  salvation  to  take  its  chance ;  and  a  race  which, 
while  asserting  that  salvation  is  impossible  without  phys- 
ical purity,  practically  ignores  cleanliness.  A  quarrel 
which  is  surely  the  quaintest  dissociation  of  theory  and 
practice  which  the  world  can  show !  All  the  quainter 
in  that  the  Western  proverb  is  a  quotation  from  the 
sacred  wisdom  of  the  East. 

The  question  therefore,  "  When  will  the  plague  come.-*  " 
with  its  corollary,  "  If  it  comes,  what  shall  we  do .''  "  under- 


UNCER  TAIN  TIES  1 3  3 

lay  the  laughter  of  two-thirds  of  the  guests.  For  they 
were  men.  The  remaining  third,  being  women,  were  as 
yet  unconcerned  ;  the  danger  had  not  yet  come  within 
their  horizon  of  personal  good  or  evil.  All  except 
Grace  Arbuthnot ;  and  that  it  had  come  into  hers  was 
due  simply  to  an  enlargement  of  that  personal  horizon ; 
not  from  any  general  sense  of  duty. 

Yet,  in  a  way,  the  men  also  limited  their  wonder  to 
their  own  line  of  work.  The  city  magistrate  with  refer- 
ence to  the  back  slums  of  Nushapore,  peopled  by  the 
idlest,  most  dissolute,  most  depraved  population  in  India. 
The  Inspector-General  of  Hospitals  thought  of  his  native 
doctors,  his  dispensaries.  The  police-officer  of  his  bad 
character  list,  his  licences  to  carry  arms.  The  General- 
in-command  of  the  station,  again,  thought  of  his  garri- 
son, of  the  four  hundred  sick  in  hospital  out  of  eighteen 
hundred  men,  who  might  be  wanted  ere  long.  His 
were  not  pleasant  thoughts,  and  they  were  urgent. 
Only  that  morning  he  had  driven  down  from  canton- 
ments to  catch  the  Lieutenant-Governor  before  he  went 
to  church  and  discuss  the  doctor's  fiat  that  nothing 
short  of  a  complete  change,  a  complete  severance  from 
the  bazaars  which,  crowding  round  the  barracks,  placed 
the  troops,  as  it  were,  in  the  midst  of  a  native  town, 
was  likely  to  do  any  good.  So  they  had  discussed  the 
question  during  service  hours,  while  others  were  saying 
"Good  Lord,  deliver  us"  from  a  variety  of  evils;  with 
the  result  that  Sir  George  had  promised  to  go  down  to 
cantonments  the  very  next  day,  and  see  for  himself 
what  the  state  of  affairs  was. 

Yet,  despite  the  fact  that  all  the  repressed  anxiety 
present  centred  round  the  one  word  "plague,"  the  first 
hint  of  the  subject  mooted  gravely,  brought  instant 
protest  from  a  high-pitched  Irish  brogue. 

"Oh,  plague  take  it  altogether!  for  it  is  becoming  a 
bore  of  the  fullest  dimensions !  But  I  hearrd  a  fine 
story  about  it  an'  old  Martineau  yesterday.  There  has 
been  a  suspected  case  in  one  of  his  districts.  An  old 
Mohammedan  woman,  travelling  alone  in  a  country  gig, 


134  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

died;  and  the  deputy-collector  —  a  Hindoo  hungering 
for  promotion  —  thought  he  'ud  curry  favour  with  the 
powers  by  bein'  prompt.  So  he  burrnt  the  cart  an'  the 
clothes  an'  the  corpse.  They  didn't  mind  the  corpse  — 
bein'  a  woman  —  though  it's  perdition,  me  dear  Mrs. 
Carruthers,  for  a  Mohammedan  to  be  burrnt ;  but  the 
clothes  were  another  story,  and  the  relatives  kicked  up 
a  bit  of  a  fuss.  So  Martineau  had  to  hold  an  inquiry. 
'  Did  you  burrn  the  corpse  .-' '  he  roared  —  ye  know  his 
sucking-dove  of  a  voice.  '  Sir,'  says  the  deputy  half 
blue-funk,  half-elation  at  his  own  action,  '  I  did ;  the 
rules  provide  — '  'I  didn't  ask  for  the  rules,  sir,'  roars 
Martineau;  'did  you  burrn  the  clothes.'''  'Hnzoorf 
bleats  the  baboo,  forgetting  his  English,  'it  is  laid  down.' 
'  I  didn't  ask  what's  laid  down,'  comes  the  roar ;  '  did 
you  burrn  the  cart  .■* '  '  Gherceb-pna-was,'  blubbers  the 
deputy,  '  I  thought  — '  '  Confound  you,  sir  !  I  didn't  ask 
what  you  thought ;  did  you  burrn  the  driver } '  '  No  ! 
no  ! '  shrieked  the  wretched  creature,  fallin'  on  his  knees. 
'  It  is  a  lie !  It  is  malice !  It  is  an  invention  of  my 
enemies.  I  didn't.'  'Then,  sir,'  thunders  Martineau, 
'  you're  a  d — d  fool,  sir,  not  to  have  stopped  his  mouth.' " 

There  was  a  light-hearted  laugh  round  the  table  which, 
for  the  time  being,  focussed  all  the  qualities  which  go  to 
make  empire ;  not  the  least  of  which  is  the  faculty  for 
such  laughter.  Laughter  which  comes  to  the  West, 
sometimes,  to  be  celebrated  in  song  and  story,  like  that 
of  the  ball  before  Waterloo,  or  of  the  French  noblesse  in 
the  conciergerie,  but  which  is  ever  present  in  India,  giv- 
ing to  its  Anglo-Indian  society  an  almost  wistful  frivol- 
ity, studious  in  its  gay  refusal  to  take  anything  mix 
grajids  serieux  till  the  stern  necessity  of  doing  so  stares 
it  in  the  face. 

And,  with  the  laugh,  the  grave,  white-coated,  dark- 
faced  servants  passed  round  the  table  also,  ignoring  the 
mirth,  ignoring  all  things  save  French  dishes  and  iced 
champagne. 

"  Lucky  it  was  a  woman,  wasn't  it !  "  said  a  voice.  "  If 
it  had  been  a  man,  there  would  have  been  real  trouble." 


UNCER  TAIN  TIES  1 3  5 

"  How  rude  !  Isn't  it  at  least  as  bad  for  a  woman  to 
be  burnt,"  challenged  a  very  pretty  one,  "  as  a  man  ?  " 

"  For  the  woman,  no  doubt,"  replied  the  brogue  drily  ; 
"  but  in  this  case  the  men  don't  care.  Ye  see,  the 
Mohammedan  paradise  is  already  peopled  with  hoiiris 
like  yourself,  me  dear  Mrs.  Carruthers ;  so  the  presence 
of  the  sex  isn't  important  enough  to  fuss  about." 

"  Of  course  not !  "  retorted  the  little  lady  gaily, 
"  because  you  men  know  we  can  always  make  a  Para- 
dise for  ourselves." 

"  Make  ;  an'  mar,  me  dear  madam  !  " 

"  Oh !  I  give  you  Eve !  The  woman  who  is  fool 
enough  to  think  she  can  keep  her  husband  in  one  if  she 
gives  him  a  cold  lunch  of  apples,  deserves  to  lose 
everything." 

"  Except  her  looks  !  The  world  can't  spare  the  pretty 
women !  " 

So  far  the  lightness  of  both  voices  had  been  charming  ; 
but  a  new  one  coming  from  the  other  side  of  the  table 
had  the  heavy  acidity  in  it  of  wine  that  should  sparkle 
and  does  not ;  for  the  owner  being  Mrs.  Carruthers's 
recognised  rival,  sinned  against  the  first  principles  of 
bad'niage  by  importing  spite  into  it. 

"  Surely  that's  been  said  before.  Every  one  knows 
cooks  are  the  devil ;  mine  is,  anyhow  !  " 

"  The  devil!  "  echoed  little  Mrs.  Carruthers,  eyeing  her 
adversary  —  whose  bad  dinners  were  a  byword  —  with 
a  charming  surprise ;  "  I  wonder  at  your  saying  so. 
Why,  the  devil  tempts  you,  and  you  do  eat ;  and  —  and 
some  cooks  disgust  you,  and  you  don't!  " 

Her  antagonist's  protest  that  the  quotation  applied  to 
Eve,  was  lost  in  the  laugh,  during  which  Jack  Raymond 
— -who  had  found  it  impossible  to  evade  Sir  George 
Arbuthnot's  conscientious  gratitude  for  Jerry's  rescue 
as  embodied  in  an  invitation  to  dinner  —  said  to  his 
neighbour  — 

"  You  think,  Miss  Drummond,  that  we  Anglo-Indians 
talk  a  lot  of  rubbish." 

He,  himself,  had  given  her  small  opportunity  of  judg- 


136  VOICES  IN   THE  AUGHT 

ing,  for  he  had  been  very  silent  all  through  the  meal ;  in 
fact,  a  trifle  sulky.  Why,  he  could  not  decide,  and  it 
had  annoyed  him  that  he  should  be  conscious  at  once  of 
resentment  and  relief  at  the  etiquette  of  precedence 
which  sent  the  secretary  to  the  club  so  far  from  the 
beautiful  face  at  the  head  of  the  tatje.  And  Lesley,  for 
her  part,  after  the  manner  of  modern  girls,  had  accepted 
his  silence  calmly,  not  troubling  herself  to  amuse  one 
who  did  not  trouble  to  amuse  her;  so  she  had  eaten 
her  dinner  peacefully,  without  any  reference  to  her 
neighbour. 

He,  however,  had  been  unable  to  attain  this  philo- 
sophic standard.  This  indifference  of  the  independent 
girl  of  the  world,  who,  conscious  of  an  assured  position 
even  as  an  unmarried  woman,  treats  man  as  an  unneces- 
sary, if,  on  the  whole  a  not  unpleasant  adjunct  to  a  life 
that  is  complete  without  him,  was  quite  new  to  Jack 
Raymond,  who  had  not  been  home  for  fourteen  years. 
He  admired  it  frankly ;  felt  that  it  suited  her,  suited  the 
refined  curve  of  the  long  throat,  the  faint  droop  at  the 
corners  of  the  mouth,  the  smooth  coils  of  hair.  The 
chill  dignity  of  it  all,  he  realised  —  for  he  was  a  quick 
judge  in  such  matters  —  did  not  mean  anything  personal. 
It  was  not  he  with  whom,  as  he  phrased  it,  she  desired 
to  have  no  truck,  but  with  the  whole  creation  of  such  as 
he ;  or  such,  rather,  as  she  chose  to  consider  him.  For 
it  was  evident  that,  despite  her  almost  magisterial  calm, 
she  still  used  the  woman's  privilege  of  making  her  own 
heroes  and  villains.  In  reality,  she  could  know  nothing 
about  him !  Should  he  tell  her  something  .-•  The 
question  had  occurred  to  him,  and  had  found  answer  in 
his  remark. 

She  answered  the  challenge  with  a  half-bored  smile. 

"  I  suppose  you  like  it ;  but  it  does  seem  odd  to  an 
outsider  in  what  is  virtually  a  picked  society.  And  then 
there  is  so  much  to  talk  about  seriously  in  India." 

"We  prefer  to  think  about  serious  things,"  he  replied 
coolly.  "I'll  bet  you  —  shall  we  say  your  namesake's 
odds  —  twenty  to  one  }  —  that  the  men  round  this  table 


UNCERTAINTIES  1 37 

do  better  work  for  not  wasting  time  in — in  talkee- 
talkec." 

"  I  don't  bet,"  she  said,  too  disdainful  for  wider  notice 
of  his  words. 

"  So  I  am  aware,"  he  answered  quietly,  "  and  that 
reminds  me !  The  f*'e  thousand  rupees  I  won  off  Bon- 
nie Lesley  still  awaits  your  instructions." 

"  Mine  !  "  she  echoed  in  surprise.     "  Why  .?  " 

"As  to  what  charity  is  to  profit  by  my  sin.  There  is 
one  for  the  regeneration  of  European  reprobates  —  more 
commonly  called  the  loafers'  fund.  Miss  Drummond, 
which,  under  the  circumstances,  might  suit." 

She  looked  icebergs.  "  Thanks,  Mr.  Raymond  ;  but 
your  eloquence  succeeded  so  absolutely  in  convincing 
me  I  was  in  no  way  responsible,  that  I  must  decline  to 
interfere.  Please  do  as  you  choose  with  your  ill-gotten 
gains." 

He  smiled.  "Then  the  money,  being  in  thousand 
rupee  notes,  shall  stay  where  it  is  —  in  my  pocket-book. 
It  gives  a  gambler  confidence  to  know  he  has  some  spare 
cash  about  him !  Besides,"  he  added  hastily,  a  sudden 
shrinking  in  her  eyes  warning  him  that  he  had  really 
pained  her,  "  it  might  come  in  for  a  good  deed." 

"  Possibly,  not  probably,"  she  began,  then  explained 
herself  hastily :  "  I  mean,  of  course,  it  is  not  likely  such 
an  occasion  will  arise  —  " 

"  Don't,  Miss  Drummond,"  he  interrupted  gravely. 
"  Keep  your  bad  opinion  of  me  undiluted ;  you  can't  go 
wrong  there.  But  don't  condemn  the  lot  of  us  for  talk- 
ing rubbish ;  there  is  generally  a  reason  for  it." 

"  There  is  generally  a  reason  for  most  things,  I 
believe,"  she  said  coldly. 

Her  tone  nettled  him,  and  as  usual  when  his  temper 
rose,  he  went  straight  to  the  point. 

"Generally,"  he  admitted;  "but  I  don't  think  you 
allow  for  these.  That  lady  opposite,  for  instance,  is 
talking  nonsense,  all  she  knows,  in  order  to  forget  that 
she  sang  the  hymn  for  those  at  sea  to-day.  The  padre 
had  it  because  his  wife  and  daughter  are  on  their  way 


138  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

out,  and  a  bad  cyclone  was  telegraphed  yesterday  off 
Socotra.  Her  only  son  is  in  the  same  boat.  Then  the 
man  next  her,"  he  went  on,  for  Lesley  was  listening 
with  faintly  startled,  faintly  distasteful  curiosity,  "  is  try- 
ing to  forget  that  the  doctors  tell  him  it  is  a  toss  up 
whether  he  can  pull  through  the  next  hot  weather  with- 
out leave.  He  can't  afford  to  take  any,  with  four  boys 
at  school  and  one  at  the  university.  Luckily,  if  he 
doesn't  pull  through,  his  wife  —  she  has  been  bossing 
the  show  at  home  these  five  years  because  the  rupees 
wouldn't  run  two  establishments  —  will  be  better  off 
than  if  he  did.  Pensions  of  a  hundred,  and  a  hundred 
and  fifty,  mount  up,  you  see,  when  there's  ten  of  a  fam- 
ily. Then  the  pretty  woman  flirting  with  the  general  is 
trying  to  forget  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  child  in  the 
world.  She  left  four  at  home  because  they  telegraphed 
that  her  husband  wasn't  safe  alone.  He  was  in  an  out- 
station,  and  took  a  double-barrelled  gun  to  shoot  locusts. 
So  he  said,  but  his  bearer  wetted  the  cartridges,  and 
sent  a  camel  sowar  to  headquarters  for  the  doctor!  He 
has  still  to  use  a  hair  restorer,  you'll  observe  —  that's 
the  man  over  there.  Look  how  he's  watching  his  wife  ! 
He  has  to  take  her  back  to  the  wilderness  to-morrow, 
and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  wasn't  thinking  himself  a 
fool  not  to  have  made  sure,  for  her  sake,  that  his  pow- 
der was  dry !  Brain-fever  plays  tricks  with  a  man's 
reasoning  powers.   Miss   Drummond." 

Lesley's  lip  curled  slightly  with  the  indifferent  dis- 
taste so  many  girls  have  nowadays,  for  tlie  least 
sentimentality,  the  faintest  claim  on  emotion. 

"  Is  it  all  tragedy  .''  "  she  began  critically. 

"All!"  he  interrupted  her  cheerfully.  "Even  Mrs. 
Carruthers  has  one.  They  fumigated  her  last  Paris 
frock  at  the  quarantine  station,  and  took  the  colour  out 
of  it !  But  that's  enough.  I  don't  want  to  have  to  find 
a  reason  for  the  nonsense  that  is  in  me.  Are  you  going 
to  the  Artillery  sports  to-morrow.'  " 

She  gave  no  answer,  but  she  sat  looking  at  him  with 
an  appreciative  smile.     "  You  do  it  very  well,  though  " 


UNCERTAINTIES  1 39 

—  she  said,  then  paused.  "  I  wonder  why  you  gave 
up  the  civil  service  ?  Lady  Arbuthnot  told  me  you  did, 
but  she  didn't  say  why.  I  expect  you  lost  your  temper, 
didn't  you.-*  " 

It  was  exactly  what  he  had  done,  but  the  only  person 
who  had  ever  told  him  so  before  had  been  Grace  Arbuth- 
not. And  she  had  made  it  a  personal  matter ;  her  eyes 
had  given  and  claimed  so  much  when  she  told  him  ;  while 
the  ones  opposite  him,  now,  were  absolutely  self-absorbed. 

"  Possibly,"  he  admitted  curtly,  nettled  by  her  cool 
curiosity.  "You  can  judge  for  yourself.  There  was  a 
row  in  the  native  city  of  which  I  had  charge.  I  fired 
on  the  mob.  Government  thought  it  was  unnecessary, 
and  stopped  my  promotion.     I  resigned." 

"  And  the  row  .''  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  That  stopped  also,  of  course.  Excuse  me,  but  Lady 
Arbuthnot  has  made  the  move." 

Lesley  stood  up,  tall,  slender,  almost  conventual  in 
her  clinging  white  dress,  in  the  reserved  yet  absolutely 
self-reliant  look  on  her  face.  But  she  paused,  ere  leav- 
ing him,  to  say  judicially  — 

"  Then  that  proves  that  you  were  right  to  fire ;  and 
if  you  were  in  the  right,  as  you  were,  when — .-'  " 

"  Are  you  not  coming,  Lesley  .-*  You  can  finish  your 
discussion  afterwards,"  came  Lady  Arbuthnot's  voice 
in  a  half-playful,  half-impatient  appeal,  as  she  stopped 
beside  them  to  include  the  girl  in  the  contingent  she 
was  marshalling  towards  the  door.  The  servants  had 
gone.  From  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  big  room  there 
was  no  hint  or  sign  of  the  east.  It  might  have  been  a 
London  dinner-party.  Grace  herself,  in  her  pale  green 
draperies  and  flashing  diamonds,  might  have  been  the 
London  hostess  whose  only  care  was  to  get  rid  of  her 
guests  gracefully  and  so  find  freedom  to  be  one  herself, 
elsewhere. 

"  It  is  my  fault,"  put  in  Jack  Raymond  quickly.  "  It 
is  so  seldom  any  one  tells  me  I  do  right,  that  I  must  be 
excused  for  delaying  a  young  lady  who  is  kind  enough 
to  perjure  herself  to  say  so." 


I40  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"  I  didn't  perjure  myself,"  said  Lesley,  with  a  frown. 
"  I  don't  as  a  rule.     I  really  think  you  were  right." 

He  knew,  absolutely,  that  her  praise  was  —  as  her 
blame  had  been  —  quite  impersonal,  that  he  was  for- 
gotten in  her  sense  of  abstract  justice  and  injustice,  but 
he  appropriated  the  commendation  with  a  bow,  because 
he  felt  that  to  do  so  was  a  challenge  to  both  the  women 
before  him ;  to  Grace,  of  the  older  type,  with  her  cult 
of  sentiment  deliberately  overlaying  her  intellect,  and 
Lesley,  of  the  newer  type,  with  her  dislike  to  sentimen- 
tality as  deliberately  overlaying  her  heart.  He  felt,  with 
a  certain  irritation,  that  there  ought  to  be  some  middle 
standpoint,  as  he  said  — 

"Thank  you.  Miss  Drummond  !  " 

Lady  Arbuthnot  recognised  the  personal  challenge 
instantly. 

"  What  was  the  virtue,  Lesley,"  she  asked  proudly. 

"Only  firing  on  a  mob,"  he  answered  for  the  girl. 
"  It  is  lucky,  Lady  Arbuthnot,  that  I  have  no  chance 
of  doing  so  again,  or  the  consequences  of  Miss  Drum- 
mond's  approval  might  be  more  disastrous  than  that  of 
other  people's  blame." 

The  sense  of  something  uncomprehended,  coming  to 
Lesley  uncomfortably,  as  it  always  comes,  made  her  for- 
bear to  squash  the  maker  of  the  bow,  and  say  hastily 
in  half-unconscious  effort  after  the  purely  common- 
place— 

"  Then  I  hope  there  won't  be  a  chance ;  but  one  can 
never  tell,  can  one  .■*  " 

She  blushed  at  her  own  inane  words  when  she  heard 
them,  but  Grace  Arbuthnot,  as  she  moved  on,  gave  a 
little  hard  laugh.  "  Never,  my  dear  !  So  long  as  there 
are  men  and  women  in  the  world,  it  will  be  as  Stephen 
Hargraves  said,  '  all  a  muddle.'  " 

She  broke  off  abruptly  to  look  round ;  for,  through 
the  closed  doors  of  the  secretary's  room  came  the 
imperative  ring  of  an  electric  bell,  making  more  than 
one  keen  face  follow  her  example.  But  at  the  open 
door  where  the  private  secretary  was  holding  up  the 


UNCER  TAIN  TIES  1 4 1 

portih'e  on  one  side,  while  Nevill  Lloyd  as  A.D.C.  held 
up  the  other,  the  former  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Bother  that  bell !  "  he  said  to  little  Mrs.  Carruthers 
who  was  passing.  "  There's  my  evening  gone  !  They 
might  spare  us  Sunday  —  especially  when  you  are  din- 
ing here.  I've  a  great  mind  to  keep  them  ringing  till 
you've  gone." 

"  Don't,"  she  laughed.  "  Supposing  it  were  a  mutiny !  " 
She  made  the  suggestion  out  of  pure  wickedness,  because 
her  rival,  who  owned  to  never  sleeping  a  wdnk  if  the  bazaar 
near  her  house  was  noisy  and  let  off  fireworks,  was  within 
hearing. 

"  Surely  you  don't  think  —  "  began  the  timorous  lady. 

"Certainly  not,"  consoled  the  secretary.  "And  if  it 
was,  Mrs.  Carruthers,  that's  no  reason  for  breaking  the 
Sabbath." 

"  They  don't,"  retorted  the  gay  little  lady.  "  Sun- 
day is  over  with  them  ages  ago.  They  are  six  hours 
before—" 

"  Behind,  you  mean  !  The  West  is  absolutely,  hope- 
lessly behind." 

Mrs.  Carruthers  nodded  airily.  "  How  do  you  know  } 
you  never  can  be  certain,  can  you  ?  which  is  before 
and  which  is  behind  in  a  circle !  It  all  depends  on 
where  j^7^  are." 

With  which  piece  of  wisdom,  the  last  Paris  frock  but 
one  trailed  off  into  the  drawing-room,  and  deposited  itself 
comfortably  and  becomingly  by  the  side  of  a  dowdy 
black  one,  for  the  sake  of  contrast  and  monopoly,  by 
and  by,  when  the  men  should  return  to  their  allegiance. 

They  lingered  over  their  wine,  however,  that  evening. 
So  long  that  Grace  Arbuthnot  grew  pale  over  the  strain 
of  waiting  to  know  what  that  electric  bell  had  meant. 
She  was  given  to  worrying  herself  quite  needlessly. 
Lesley  under  similar  conditions  would  have  taken  the 
situation  in  more  manly  fashion,  but  then  she  was  far 
more  assured  of  her  position,  curiously  enough,  than 
Grace  Arbuthnot  was  of  hers.  For  the  simple  reason 
that  the  latter  had  won  it,  in  her  generation,  by  her  per- 


142  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

sonal  and  exceptional  capability,  while  Lesley  took  hers 
by  right  of  the  ordinary  woman's  new  claim  to  be  heard 
as  well  as  seen. 

And  then  Grace  Arbuthnot  was  at  another  disadvan- 
tage. Her  sentiment  was  a  heavier  weight  to  carry 
than  Lesley's  lack  of  it;  and  Jack  Raymond's  words 
had  set  her  nerves  jarring.  So,  at  last,  on  the  mother's 
excuse  of  going  to  see  if  Jerry  were  comfortably  asleep, 
she  left  the  drawing-room,  and  on  her  way  upstairs, 
paused  to  listen  at  the  dining-room  door.  As  she  stood 
there  in  her  diamonds,  her  sea-green  garments,  trying 
to  catch  anything  definite  in  the  muffled  voices  within, 
she  felt  a  sudden  vast  impatience  at  her  sex ;  felt,  as 
Lesley  would  not  have  felt,  that  it  was  a  disadvantage. 
For  the  old  revolt  of  womanhood  used  to  be  against  nat- 
ure ;  now  it  is  against  the  custom  which  shackles  nature. 

As  she  passed  on  up  the  wide  stairs,  the  strange 
silence  and  solitude  of  an  Indian  house  in  which  all 
service  comes  from  outside,  lay  about  her ;  but  in 
Jerry's  room  the  open  window  let  in  a  sound.  The 
most  restless  sound  in  the  world,  the  rhythmic  yet  hur- 
ried beat  of  the  little  hour-glass  drum  used  by  the 
natives  in  their  amusements.  Rhythmic  yet  hurried, 
like  the  quickened  throb  of  a  heart.  It  came  faintly, 
indefinitely,  from  the  distance  and  darkness  of  the  city ; 
but  Grace  had  been  too  long  in  India  not  to  be  able  to 
picture  for  herself  the  environment  whence  it  rose.  She 
could  see  the  murk  of  smoke  and  shadow,  the  light  of 
flicker  and  flare  on  the  circling  faces  round  the  shrilUng 
voice  or  posturing  figure  of  a  woman.  Was  it  a  wed- 
ding .''  Or  was  it  —  the  other  thing  ?  It  might  be  either ; 
for  that  intermittent  noise  of  fireworks,  which  echoed 
at  intervals  like  the  report  of  guns,  belonged  to  both. 

This  time  it  was  a  fear  of  her  own  self  that  came  to 
Grace  Arbuthnot  as  she  listened  —  a  fear  of  her  own 
sex  —  a  fear  of  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  hearts 
beating  away  in  the  darkness  around  her ;  beating  per- 
haps in  rhythm  to  that  restless  sound. 

And  so  little  might  bring  the  restlessness  to  a  heart ! 


UNCERTAINTIES  1 43 

Her  own  gave  quick  assent  as  she  looked  down  on  the 
sleeping  childish  face,  seen  dimly  by  the  rushlight  set 
on  the  floor  beside  the  muffled,  sleeping  figure  of  the 
child's  bearer. 

For  the  sight  brought  back,  in  a  second,  that  other 
sleeping  face  she  had  seen  a  few  days  before.  Not  that 
the  two  were  outwardly  alike ;  the  likeness  lay  within. 
She  took  a  step  nearer,  and  then  stood  looking  curiously, 
almost  fearfully,  at  the  child  she  had  borne.  She  was 
one  of  the  ninety  and  nine  out  of  every  hundred  good 
women  who  pass  through  wifehood  and  motherhood 
thinking  it  their  duty  to  ignore  its  problems  —  the 
problems  which  only  good  women  can  solve  —  and  so 
it  gave  her  a  certain  shock  to  realise  that  she  had 
passed  on  that  old  love  of  hers  to  this  child  of  another 
man.  Yet,  when  one  came  to  think  of  it,  what  else  was 
heredity  —  if  there  was  such  a  thing  in  the  mind  —  but 
the  passing  on  of  one's  admirations,  one's  ideals  }  The 
passing  on  from  generation  to  generation  of  one's  own 
affinity  for  good  or  evil ;  the  slow  evolution  of  the  spirit 
of  a  race. 

The  spirit  of  a  race !  She  stooped  suddenly  and 
kissed  the  Httle  sleeping  face.  And  the  kiss  had  in  it 
the  thought  of  another  sleeping  face,  and  an  almost 
fierce  pride  of  possession.  But  the  child's  face  frowned, 
and  a  little  white  nightgowned  arm  curved  itself  to 
shield  the  cheek  from  further  caresses. 

"  Don't  bov'ver,  mum  ;  I'm  all  wight,"  came  a  sleepy 
protest. 

Grace  stood  straight  again,  feeling  baffled,  helpless ; 
for  that  dislike  to  any  display  of  affection  had  never 
been  to  her  hking.  It  had  been,  in  fact,  partly  responsi- 
ble for  her  refusal  to  fulfil  her  engagement  v.dien  Jack 
Raymond  had  lost  his  temper  and  threatened  to  throw 
up  his  career.  She  had  dared  him  to  do  it,  and,  being 
high-spirited,  he  had  done  it.  And  then,  with  bitter 
regret,  infinite  pain,  and  a  vast  amount  of  conventional 
virtue,  she  had  withdrawn  her  promise  to  marry  him 
because .-' 


144  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

For  the  first  time  in  twelve  years  of  steady  conviction 
that  she  had  done  right,  the  suggestion  that  the  only 
justification  for  such  refusal  must  lie  in  the  inability  of 
one  or  the  other  to  perform  their  part  of  the  contract, 
and  that  that,  again,  must  depend  on  what  the  contract 
of  marriage  is  essentially,  came  to  disturb  her.  But 
she  turned  from  it  impatiently,  telling  herself  she  was 
a  fool,  at  three-and-thirty,  to  puzzle  over  past  problems, 
when  the  present  was  full  of  them,  and  far  more 
interesting  ones. 

Yet,  as  she  went  downstairs  again,  that  insistent 
throbbing  from  the  dark  distant  heart  of  the  city  seemed 
to  go  with  her,  rousing  a  perfect  passion  of  reckless 
unrest  in  her  own. 

Was  anything  certain  except  present  pleasure  or  pain  } 
Was  it  worth  while,  even,  to  be  certain  .''  Was  it  not  bet- 
ter to  let  that  heart-throb  quicken  or  slacken  as  it  chose  .-' 

She  felt  her  face  pale,  her  eyes  bright,  as  she  re- 
entered the  drawing-room,  to  see  instantly,  first  of  all, 
that  Jack  Raymond  was  talking  to  Lesley. 

It  required  quite  an  effort  for  her  to  remember  her 
real  anxiety,  and  with  a  certain  sense  of  duty  seek  out 
her  husband,  who  was  standing  with  the  commissioner 
in  a  quiet  corner. 

"  It  was  nothing  serious,  I  hope,  George,"  she  said. 

He  turned  to  her,  perplexed  but  kindly. 

"  Serious,  my  dear }  Oh !  you  mean  the  telegram. 
No !  nothing  really  important,  though  they  seem  to 
think  it  so  over  there.  They  want  me  to  promulgate 
some  sort  of  official  denial  of  there  being  any  secret 
programme  in  the  event  of  a  plague  outbreak.  It  is 
weak,  of  course  —  in  a  way,  a  mistake ;  but  I  don't 
think  it  will  do  actual  harm  —  do  you,  Kenyon  .-'  " 

The  commissioner  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  was 
not  in  the  secret;  but  had  his  suspicions.  "No,  sir," 
he  replied;  "not  unless  there  urns  one,  and  the  fact 
were  to  leak  out.  It  is  difficult  to  prevent  this  with 
native  clerks,  especially  when  the  idea  of  it  is  present, 
as  it  certainly  is  —  " 


UNCER  TAIN  TIES  1 4  5 

"  But  the  reality  isn't,"  put  in  Sir  George  decisively, 
"  in  spite  of  what  that  scurrilous  fellow  says  to-day  in 
the  Voice  of  India^ 

Grace  caught  in  her  breath  sharply. 

"What  does  it  say  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Only  that  such  a  paper  does  exist,  and  that  it  can 
be  produced  —  which  is,  of  course,  absurd  —  "  His 
glance  at  his  wife  for  the  comprehension  she  alone 
could  give  made  him  pause.  "  My  dear,"  he  went  on 
concernedly,  "  how  pale  you  are  !  There  is  really  noth- 
ing to  be  anxious  about  —  is  there,  Kenyon  }  For 
myself,  I'm  glad  of  the  definite  lead  over.  For  one 
thing,  it  makes  it  feasible  for  us  to  do  what  the  doctors 
have  been  urging  on  the  General  for  some  time  back  — 
send  both  regiments  out  to  a  health  camp  at  Moradki. 
They  seem  to  have  gone  to  bits  altogether.  Sullivan 
told  me  to-day  he  had  forty-eight  cases  of  enteric  alone, 
and  that  he  had  never  known  the  men  so  reckless  and 
hard  to  manage  —  breaking  out  of  hospital  every  night." 

"I  wonder  why.'"'  began  Lady  Arbuthnot,  when  the 
commissioner  interrupted  her. 

"  Why,  it's  simplicity  itself !  Don't  you  know  the 
story .''  Well,  this  is  it.  The  first  battalion  of  the  — th 
Regiment  here  was  under  home  orders  from  Burmah, 
and  the  men,  of  course,  saved  up  every  penny  they 
could.  At  the  last  moment,  however,  the  second  bat- 
talion could  only  produce  three  hundred  boys  who  could 
by  any  possibility  pass  muster  as  twenty-one,  the  age 
limit  for  India.  So  the  authorities  wired  out  to  draft 
every  possible  man  from  the  first  for  an  extra  year's 
foreign  service  with  the  second  battalion  —  virtually  a 
strange  regiment.  The  men  drew  out  every  half-penny 
of  their  savings  the  day  the  order  came,  and  have  been 
spending  it  ever  since  —  and  teaching  the  three  hun- 
dred boys  to  spend  theirs  too.  It's  the  record  of  a  big 
blunder." 

"Just  so,"  assented  Sir  George;  "but  these  mistakes 
will  occur.  It  was  unfortunate,  however,  that  they  sent 
the    second   battalion    here ;    for   the    first   was   nearly 


146  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

decimated  by  cholera  at  Nushapore  about  three  years 
ago.  Sullivan  says  he  thinks  it  is  largely  that.  They 
hate  the  place,  are  in  a  bit  of  a  funk  about  it ;  and 
when  that  is  the  case  they  will  do  anything  for  the 
sake  of  a  distraction." 

Grace,  listening,  seemed  to  hear  once  more  that  rest- 
less throbbing  in  the  air.  She  saw  the  murk  of  smoke 
and  shadow,  the  hght  of  flicker  and  flare,  the  shrilling 
voice,  the  posturing  figure. 

And  the  encircling  faces  '^. 

She  clasped  her  mother's  hands  tight,  and  thought  of 
her  own  boy  —  of  the  spirit  of  the  race. 


CHAPTER   X 


THE    SINEWS    OF    WAR 


There  was  a  strong  smell  of  carbolic  in  Miss  Leezie's 
house,  for  the  bazaar  on  which  it  gave  was  being  cleaned 
by  half  a  dozen  sweepers,  a  water-carrier,  and  the  con- 
servancy overseer  in  a  uniform  coat  with  a  brass  badge ; 
his  part  being  to  dole  out  the  disinfectant  and  survey 
the  proceedings  from  various  doorsteps  in  advance  of 
the  slimy  black  sludge,  which  was  being  propelled  by  the 
sweepers'  brooms  along  the  open  gutters  —  those  scien- 
tifically-sloped, saucer-shaped  gutters  that  are  the  pride 
of  every  cantonment  magistrate's  heart. 

The  cleansing  of  them  was  scientific  also ;  partly 
because  the  conservancy  dar'ogha  knew  that  the  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor was  due  in  cantonments  that  afternoon  ; 
mostly,  however,  because  that  particular  bazaar,  being  a 
favourite  lounge  for  the  dwellers  in  the  barracks  round 
the  corner,  the  orders  regarding  its  cleanliness  were 
strict. 

It  was,  therefore,  as  clean  as  it  is  possible  to  keep  a 
road  between  two  tight-packed  rows  of  mud  houses 
which  are  guiltless  of  any  sanitary  appliances,  unlimited 
as  to  inmates,  and  from  which  all  refuse  has  to  find  its 
way  into  the  gutter ;  unless,  as  sometimes  happens,  the 
moving  of  it  even  thus  far  is  considered  too  m.uch 
trouble,  and  it  is  left  to  fester  and  rot  in  some  dark 
corner  within,  until  it  betrays  itself,  and  brings  raids 
and  fines  upon  the  injured  inhabitants. 

Even  so,  there  was  filth  and  to  spare  for  the  brooms ; 
filth  that  smelt  horribly  beneath  its  veneer  of  carbolic. 
More  than  once,  indeed,  the  white-trousered  legs  belong- 
ing to  the  uniform  coat  and  the  badge  had,  when  the 

147 


148  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

wearer  had  forgotten  sewage  in  a  pull  at  some  shop- 
keeper's pipe,  to  withdraw  themselves  hastily  from  the 
oncoming  of  a  regular  bore  of  unutterable  muck,  which 
came  sweeping  along  like  a  tidal  wave,  overwhelming 
even  scientific  saucers. 

It  happened  so  at  the  aerated-water  seller's,  whose 
shop  was  beneath  Miss  Leezie's  balconied  apartments. 
It  was  an  excellent  position  for  the  trade,  and  though  he 
only  charged  tivo  pice  a  bottle  for  soda  and  lemonade, 
he  found  no  difficulty  in  paying  a  heavy  licence  for  the 
privilege  of  selling  Shahjeshanpore  rum,  potato  brandy, 
and  bad  whisky,  in  addition  to  the  waters. 

But  then  he  could  make  the  latter  for  less  than  they 
could  at  the  regimental  factory,  where  they  had  to  use 
filters,  and  satisfy  the  inspecting  doctor  that  everything 
was  according  to  rule  and  regulation  ;  just  as  they  had  to 
satisfy  him  at  the  regimental  dairies  that  the  few  drops 
of  milk  given  to  the  soldier  in  barracks  were  as  pure  as 
care  could  make  them. 

The  purity,  of  course,  raised  the  price  of  milk  to  the 
authorities ;  but  they  did  not  grudge  the  expense  to 
themselves  in  such  a  good  cause.  Besides,  if  the  sol- 
diers wanted  more  milk  —  and  some  of  the  boys  fresh 
out  from  home  were  still  young  enough  to  prefer  a  tum- 
bler of  it  to  one  of  bad  spirit  and  tepid  soda  —  there 
was  always  plenty  of  the  cheaper  quality  to  be  bought 
at  the  sweetmeat  shops. 

And  of  these,  as  well  as  of  fruit  shops  and  sherbet 
shops,  there  were  many  in  the  bazaar  where  Miss  Leezie 
and  her  kind  lodged  in  the  upper  stories ;  so  that  either 
above  or  below,  the  dwellers  in  the  barracks  round  the 
corner  could  find  enough  to  satisfy  the  appetite. 

Therefore  the  smell  of  carbolic  was  conscientiously 
mingled  with  that  of  decaying  melon  rinds,  sour  milk, 
drains,  and  musk ;  and  the  outcome  of  the  atmosphere 
was  left  to  Providence. 

The  immediate  result  was  not  savoury ;  especially  in 
the  low  stuffy  room,  as  yet  shut  out  from  the  light  and 
air   of   the   balcony   by  wadded  portihes,  in  which   a 


THE   SINEWS   OF   WAR  1 49 

woman,  lounging  in  one  corner,  was  idly  allowing  her 
fingers  to  flirt  on  the  parchment  of  a  drum  —  one  of 
those  small,  quaint  drums  shaped  like  Time's  hour-glass, 
which  produce  what  Grace  Arbuthnot  had  told  herself 
was  the  most  restless  sound  on  God's  earth. 

It  had  the  same  passion  of  unrest,  here  in  this  squalid 
room,  though  it  was  scarcely  loud  enough  to  stir  the  air 
heavy  with  that  horrible  compound  of  smells. 

The  woman  was  Miss  Leezie  herself,  as  yet  negligent 
in  purely  native  deshabille ;  for  the  afternoon  was  still 
young,  and  she  knew  that  custom  would  be  late  owing 
to  the  Artillery  Sports.  Indeed,  she  was  going  to  them 
herself,  by  and  by,  with  some  of  her  apprentices,  in  a 
hired  carriage.  But  she  was  not  taking  Sobrai ;  for 
Sobrai  was  wilful,  oddly  attractive  withal,  and  therefore 
dangerous  to  the  discipline  of  cantonments.  With  an 
evil  tongue  also,  so  that  Miss  Leezie  looked  over  in  lazy 
anger  to  the  opposite  corner  of  the  room,  whence  a  shrill 
assertion  that  the  speaker  would  not  be  put  upon  had 
just  risen. 

"  Then  thou  hadst  best  go  back  to  the  city  and  Dila- 
ram,  fool !  "  said  the  mistress  of  the  house  sharply;  "for 
if  thou  stayest  here,  it  must  be  to  walk  sober,  as  we  all 
do,  to  the  time  of  the  fifes  and  drums.  My  house  hath 
a  good  name,  and  I  will  not  have  it  given  an  ill  one  for 
all  the  apprentices  in  Nushapore.  So  if  thou  wilt  not 
obey,  go  !  There  be  plenty  of  that  sort,  unlicenced, 
beyond  the  boundaries.  But  we  are  different ;  we  are 
approved !  " 

She  leant  back  with  palpable  pride  against  a  wall 
which  found  its  only  purification  from  the  rub  of  red 
coats,  and  that  civilised  flavouring  of  carbolic  in  the 
smell  of  drains  and  garbage. 

Sobrai  scowled  sulkily.  She  had  set  her  heart  on 
going  to  the  sports  in  a  conglomerate  attire  of  white 
flounced  muslin,  tight  silk  trousers,  nose-ring  and  kid 
gloves  ;  preferably  on  the  roof  of  the  hired  green  box  on 
wheels  within  which  Miss  Leezie  would  sit  in  dignified 
state. 


I50  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"  I  did  not  come  hither  to  rot  within  four  walls  !  I 
could  have  done  that  in  the  city,"  she  shrilled,  louder 
still. 

"Hold  thy  peace,  idiot!"  interrupted  Miss  Leezie, 
"  if  thou  dost  dare  to  raise  a  commotion  now,  when  at 
any  moment  the  Y^^t-saJiib  himself  may  come  driving 
past,  'twill  be  the  worse  for  thee  !  " 

"  VVah  !  thou  canst  do  nothing,"  answered  Sobrai; 
feeling  cowed,  despite  the  assertion,  by  Miss  Leezie's 
tone. 

"  Nothing !  "  echoed  the  latter,  with  a  hideous  laugh. 
"  Nay,  sister,  such  as  thou  art  at  the  mercy  of  a  whis- 
per. I  have  but  to  make  it,  and  out  thou  goest,  neck 
and  crop,  to  the  sound  of  the  fifes  and  drums.  Nay, 
more"  ;  she  rose  slowly,  and  with  the  hour-glass  of  bent 
wood  and  parchment  in  her  hand  crossed  to  stand  in 
front  of  the  sullen  figure,  and  go  on  drumming  softly  in 
imitation  of  a  march.  Then  after  a  glance  at  the  other 
drowsy  figures  in  the  room,  she  leant  down  to  the  girl's 
ear  to  repeat  savagely  —  "  Ay !  and  more.  I  can  put 
thee  in,  as  well  as  turn  thee  out.  Put  thee  in  the  four 
walls  of  a  real  prison.  Remember  the  stolen  pearls, 
Sobrai !  " 

The  girl  laughed  defiantly,  cunningly.  "  Lo !  hast 
thou  thought  of  that  at  last  .■*  but  I  am  no  fool,  Leezie. 
I  counted  the  cost  ere  I  gave  them  in  payment  to  thee. 
See  you,  thy  blame  for  receiving  them  is  as  viitie  for 
taking  them.  That  is  the  sahib's  law.  And  then,  who 
is  to  say  they  are  stolen  .?  Not  Jehan.  He  would  not 
own  his  loss,  if  the  owning  meant  that  the  city  should 
know  one  of  his  women,  Sobrai  Begum,  princess,  was 
in  Miss  Leezie's  house.  That  would  be  dishonour,  for 
all  it  hath  such  a  good  name  !  " 

She  essayed  a  giggle,  but  it  failed  before  the  coarse 
sensuous  face,  where  t\\&  b/anc  de  perle  of  full  dress  still 
lingered  in  almost  awful  contrast  to  the  veil  of  Eastern 
modesty. 

"  Listen,  fool!  "  replied  the  past  mistress  in  the  rules 
and  regulations  within  which  vice  is  safer  than  virtue. 


THE    SINEWS    OF   WAR  151 

"  Listen,  and  quit  striving.  Thou  art  mine.  Not  only 
as  those  others,"  she  flirted  her  hand  from  the  drum  to 
the  dozing  girls,  "  whom  fear  of  the  fife  and  drum  keeps 
in  my  power.  I  would  not  have  taken  thee  without 
other  leading  strings,  knowing  thee  as  I  do  —  wilful,  ay! 
and  clever  too,  girl  —  with  patience,  sure  to  do  well  "  — 
she  threw  this  sop  in  carelessly.  —  "  But  I  found  the 
reins  to  my  hand.  Or  ever  I  took  thy  pearls,  I  knew 
there  were  more  than  Jehan's  amissing ;  for  the  police 
come  ever  to  us  first." 

"More  than  Jehan's .-'"  echoed  Sobrai  stupidly. 
"What  then?" 

"  This,"  whispered  Miss  Leezie  fiercely.  "  Those  four 
paltry  pearls  shall  not  be  Jehan's  leavings  on  the  carpet, 
but  earnest  for  the  whole  string  of  the  same  set ;  mark 
you,  the  same  set,"  she  laughed  maliciously,  "  which 
thou  didst  steal  from  the  \^2>.6.y -sahib.  It  is  all  in  the 
power  of  the  police,  and  they  are  my  friends.  So  if 
thou  dost  so  much  as  raise  thy  voice,  I  will  raise  mine." 

"  From  the  Lady-j^/^z'^,"  faltered  Sobrai,  aghast. 

"  Ay,  from  the  \jdAy-sahib.  Hark  !  that  will  be  the 
Lat  himself  coming  to  satisfy  himself  all  is  as  it  should 
be.  Shall  I  tell  him  now,  when  I  make  my  salaam  as 
is  due,  or  wilt  thou  promise .''  " 

She  paused,  her  hand  on  'Cao, portiere,  ere  going  into  the 
balcony,  and  waited  for  a  sign  of  surrender  from  Sobrai. 

"  But  it  is  not  true  "  —  protested  the  latter. 

Miss  Leezie  laughed.  "  As  true  as  aught  thou  canst 
bring;  since,  as  thou  sayest,  Jehan  will  not  own  up. 
Quick  !  shall  I  speak .-'  " 

Sobrai  sat  stunned,  silent,  then  dropped  her  head 
between  her  knees. 

So  the.  portikre  slid  sideways,  letting  in  a  shaft  of  sun- 
light, a  stronger  whiff  of  carbolic,  and  the  rumble  of  a 
passing  vehicle.  But  only  for  a  second  ;  for  in  the  car- 
riage which  came  rapidly  down  the  swept  and  garnished 
bazaar,  ablaze  with  sunlight,  there  were  ladies,  and  Miss 
Leezie,  therefore,  drew  back  decorously ;  to  continue 
gazing,  however,  through  a  side  slit. 


152  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

"  He  hath  his  viems  with  him,"  she  explained  to  the 
drowsy  crew  roused  by  the  rumble.  "  Two,  and  one  is 
beautiful  as  a  hoiiri.  But  they  wear  no  fringe.  Is  that 
to  be  '  fassen,'  think  you  }     'Tis  as  well  to  be  in  it." 

And,  as  the  carriage  passed,  the  slit  grew  wider  and 
wider  as  one  pair  after  another  of  bold  black  eyes  noted 
the  lack  of  fringe  in  Grace  Arbuthnot  and  Lesley  Drum- 
mond,  who  were  accompanying  Sir  George  so  far,  on 
their  way  to  be  shown  over  one  of  the  hospitals  by  the 
Head  Sister;  under  whom,  it  so  happened,  Lesley  had 
served  when,  after  modern  fashion,  she  had  "gone in  for 
a  year's  nursing." 

"  It  is  certainly  most  beautifully  clean  ;  it  ought  to  be 
healthy  enough,"  was  her  remark  now,  as  she  drove 
past,  ignorant  not  only  of  the  eyes  that  were  turning  her 
into  a  fashion  plate,  but  of  everything  in  the  environ- 
ment. 

"  It  couldn't  well  be  cleaner,"  assented  Grace,  with  a 
faint  reservation  in  her  voice;  but  she,  too,  was  uncon- 
scious of  those  watching  eyes,  those  mimicking  minds. 

"Quite  so,"  admitted  Sir  George  dubiously.  "Every- 
thing is  done  that  can  be  done,  of  course;  but  it  is 
uncommonly  hard  to  make  a  bazaar  healthy." 

He  glanced  back,  as  he  spoke,  at  the  balcony  above 
the  soda-water  shop. 

The  children,  little  naked  happy  brown  creatures, 
were  playing  in  the  sunshine.  The  shopkeepers  stood 
up  to  salaam.  An  ekka  load  or  two  of  soldiers  in  uni- 
form, their  legs  dangling  outwards  on  all  sides,  their  red 
bodies  jammed  to  shapelessness  in  the  effort  to  find 
sitting  room  on  the  jimp  seat  till  the  whole  looked  like  a 
huge  toy  crab  on  wheels,  rattled  past  towards  the  Artil- 
lery parade-ground,  their  songs  and  laughter  audible 
above  the  rattle. 

So,  abruptly,  the  bazaar  ended,  and  the  cantonment 
church  showed  its  spire  above  some  stunted  trees. 

The  sweepers,  having  finished  the  gutters  by  this  time, 
were  at  work  on  the  church  compound  clearing  away  the 
litter  of  yesterday's  services ;  and  they  drew  up  in  line. 


THE  SINEWS   OF   WAR  1 53 

the   darogJia   with    his    disinfectants  at  ,  their   head,  to 
salaam,  brooms  in  hand,  as  the  carriage  drove  past. 

Then  suddenly,  beyond  the  church,  separated  by  it 
only  from  the  bazaar,  was  the  bareness  of  the  barracks. 
A  dozen  or  more  of  them  set  at  different  angles,  long, 
low,  all  to  pattern,  absolutely  indistinguishable  from  each 
other  save  by  the  big  black  number  painted  on  the  gable 
ends.  Desolate  utterly,  lacking  for  the  most  part  any 
reason,  whatever,  why  they  should  stand  on  that  par- 
ticular spot  instead  of  upon  another  in  the  dry,  bare, 
sun-scorched  plots  of  ground  intersected  by  dry,  white, 
dusty  roads.  But  two  or  three  of  them  —  those  furthest 
away  —  apparently  had  a  somewhat  efficient  one,  for 
Sir  George  said,  pointing  them  out  — 

"Those  are  the  hospitals,  over  there,  close  to  the 
cemetery.  I'll  drop  you  and  go  on  to  my  committee. 
The  carriage  can  return  and  take  you  on  to  the  sports. 
I  can  walk  —  I  mean  if  there  is  time  after  we've  settled 
things." 

The  dubious  tone  was  in  his  voice  once  more ;  perhaps 
the  renewed  smell  of  carbolic,  mixed  with  iodoform, 
engendered  doubt  as  to  the  efficacy  of  anything  but 
heroic  treatment. 

The  smell  was  strong  in  the  comfortable  little  room 
where  Grace  and  Lesley  waited  for  Sister  Mary,  and  it 
came  in,  still  stronger,  with  the  latter's  workmanlike 
grey  dress  and  scarlet  facings. 

"  Dr.  Sullivan  is  here,  and  can  take  you  round  at 
once.  Lady  Arbuthnot,"  she  said  cheerfully ;  "  and  then, 
if  you  will  honour  us,  he  will  drive  you  over  to  our  mess 
for  tea  before  you  go  on  to  the  sports." 

It  was  all  so  cut-and-dried,  so  commonplace,  so,  as  it 
were,  inevitable,  so  almost  proper,  to  this  kind-faced 
woman  whose  work  it  was ;  but  the  first  glance  into 
that  unnaturally  long,  unnaturally  bare,  unnaturally 
clean  room,  with  its  windows  set  high,  so  that  the 
twenty-four  beds  down  one  side  and  the  twenty-four 
beds  down  the  other  side  should  be  free  of  draught  yet 
full  of  air,  gave  Grace  Arbuthnot  a  sudden  almost  resist- 


154  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

less  desire  to  call  aloud,  to  clap  her  hands,  to  do  some- 
thing, anything,  to  drive  the  sight  from  her,  to  startle  it 
into  flight,  to  rouse  herself  from  the  nightmare  of  it. 

"This  is  the  enteric  ward,"  said  Sister  Mary  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone.  "  All  the  beds  are  full  to-day,  and 
Dr.  Sullivan  —  but  he  will  tell  you  himself.  There  he 
is  coming  from  the  officers'  ward." 

'■  Have  you  many  in  there .''  "  asked  Lesley. 
•  Only  three,  and  we  are  not  sure  of  one.     He  owns, 
however,  to  having  drunk  a  lot  of  milk  when  he  was 
thirsty  out  shooting,  and  that  is  always  suspicious.     We 
shall  know  in  a  day  or  two." 

"It  comes  often  through  the  milk,  doesn't  itV  re- 
marked Grace  dreamily ;  she  was  absorbed  in  the  face 
which  showed  on  the  bed  beside  which  she  was  stand- 
ing. A  face  on  the  pillow.  No  more.  All  the  rest  tidy, 
folded  sheet  and  coverlet.  Such  a  boyish  face  —  sleep- 
ing or  unconscious.  Peaceful  absolutely,  but  so  strangely 
aloof  even  from  that  long  low  room,  with  its  endless 
appliances,  its  evidence  of  energy,  time,  money,  lavished 
regardlessly  in  the  effort  to  save. 

Sister  Mary  smiled  gently,  tolerantly.  "  I  think  gen- 
erally. We  always  sterilise  our  milk  in  hospital,  you 
know." 

As  Grace  Arbuthnot  shook  hands  with  the  doctor, 
who  came  up  at  that  moment,  she  was  conscious  of  a 
confused  quotation  trying  to  formulate  itself  at  the  back 
of  her  brain,  about  closing  doors  when  steeds  are  stolen, 
and  sterilising  seeds  when  they  have  been  sown. 

The  doctor's  kind  eyes,  however,  drove  the  thought 
away ;  for  they  were  eyes  which  seemed  to  see  the 
nightmare,  hidden  under  all  the  care  and  the  comfort, 
more  clearly  than  Sister  Mary's ;  though  hers  were  kind 
to  the  uttermost  also  —  kind  and  quick  —  so  that,  as  she 
passed  down  the  row  of  beds  with  the  visitors,  she  left 
the  other  sisters  and  the  orderlies  busy.  And  more  than 
once  her  eyes  and  the  doctor's  —  the  woman's  and  the 
man's  —  met,  after  looking  at  a  boy's  face,  with  regret 
or  reHef  in  them.     But  no  one  said  a  word  of  better  or 


THE   SINEWS   OF   WAR  1 55 

worse,  except  now  and  again  a  wistful  voice  from  the 
beds  that  stood  so  close  together. 

"  What  young  faces !  "  said  Grace  in  an  undertone ; 
there  was  a  constriction  in  her  throat  which  might  have 
prevented  her  speaking  loud  had  she  wished  to  do  so. 

"  I  doubt  if  there  is  a  case  over  two-and-twenty  in  the 
ward,"  replied  Dr.  Sullivan,  "except"  — he  paused  beside 
a  cot  in  the  far  corner,  where  a  nurse  sat  at  the  head 
and  an  orderly  waited  at  the  foot  —  "except  this  one." 

He  spoke  without  any  attempt  at  an  aside,  for  the 
face  staring  up  with  open  eyes  at  the  ceiling  was  un- 
mistakably unconscious ;  yet,  even  so,  curiously  hag- 
gard, weary,  anxious. 

"He  is  a  hospital  orderly,"  went  on  the  doctor,  "the 
best  nurse  I  ever  came  across.  I  wonder  how  many 
fellows  he's  pulled  through  in  his  fifteen  years  of  it. 
But  it  has  got  him  at  last,  though  he  was  careful.  In 
a  hurry  possibly,  and  didn't  disinfect ;  there's  been  a 
terrible  rush  lately,  and  very  little  will  do  it.  Poor  old 
Steady  Normal !  "  He  laid  his  hand  regretfully  on  the 
anxious  forehead  for  an  instant,  and  the  expression  on 
his  face  was  mirrored  in  those  around  him.  "  They 
called  him  that.  Lady  Arbuthnot,"  he  explained,  "be- 
cause he  used  to  beam  all  over  when  he  could  echo  that 
report.  Well,  if  anybody  pulls  through,  he  ought  to, 
in  justice ;  but  it's  a  bad  case.  You  see,  he  is  saturated 
with  the  poison." 

So  on  and  on  they  passed,  down  one  side  and  up  the 
other,  pausing  by  each  bed  to  look  at  what  lay  there, 
and  compare  it  with  the  chart  which  Sister  Mary  un- 
hooked from  the  wall  and  handed  to  the  doctor. 

It  got  on  Grace  Arbuthnot's  nerves  at  last  —  the 
methodical  calm  of  it  all,  the  smiles  that  were  so  cheer- 
fully sympathetic  or  so  wistfully  impatient,  the  studious 
speech,  the  still  more  studious  silence.  Until  at  last, 
when  the  end  was  near,  and  Dr.  Sullivan's  finger, 
travelling  over  a  chart,  pointed  out  a  level  after  a  series 
of  peaks  and  passes,  she  could  not  help  seeking  relief 
in  the  remark  that  "  some  one  was  out  of  the  wood!  " 


156  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

A  contented  smile  came  to  the  face  she  was  leaving, 
but  a  look  showed  on  the  one  she  was  approaching 
which  struck  her  like  a  blow,  which  she  felt  she  could 
never  forget,  so  full  was  it  of  something  akin  to  anger 
in  its  hopeless,  helpless  blame. 

"  He  is  in  the  thick  of  it,  poor  chap,"  said  the  doctor 
in  a  low  voice  ;  "  only  came  in  yesterday." 

And  Grace's  eyes,  dim  with  tears,  could  scarcely  see 
the  jagged  notches  rising  higher  and  higher  in  the 
fresh  unfingered  chart  that  was  being  shown  her. 

"  Can  nothing  be  done  } "  she  asked  abruptly,  when 
the  doctor  was  driving  her  over  to  the  mess  in  his  dog- 
cart. The  others  were  walking,  and  he  had  just  pointed 
out  the  temporary  hospital  they  had  had  to  open. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  God  knows !  Sometimes  I 
think  I  could,  with  a  free  hand.  We  do  what  we  can, 
as  it  is,  but  what  can  you  e.xpect  when  the  men  get  sit- 
ting about  the  bazaars,  and  eating  and  drinking  filth. 
There  is  only  one  way  out  of  it  now.  Lady  Arbuthnot, 
as  I  hope  you'll  tell  Sir  George.  Get  'em  away  into  the 
desert,  not  to  be  tempted  of  the  devil,  but  to  —  what 
shall  we  say  }  —  to  — to  get  back  the  sinews  of  war  !  " 
he  finished,  proud  of  his  quotation. 

It  was  apt  enough  to  recur  more  than  once  to  Grace 
Arbuthnot's  mind  as  she  watched  the  sports ;  once, 
especially,  when  a  tug-of-war  began,  and  a  team  of  boys, 
big  enough,  but  soft  looking,  stood  up  against  the 
Artillery. 

"  They  haven't  a  chance  against  us !  "  said  Nevill 
Lloyd,  with  pardonable  pride.  "  To  begin  with,  we 
are  accustomed  to  handle  ropes;  and  then!  —  of  course 
if  the  Highlanders  had  been  here  still,  there'd  have 
been  a  fight,  but  these  new  fellows  haven't  the  sinew  — 
as  yet." 

They  pulled  pluckily,  though,  for  all  they  were  worth, 
encouraged  thereat,  amongst  other  supporters,  by  a 
number  of  big  upstanding  sepoys  from  the  native  lines. 
They  were  in  mufti,  which,  however,  was  no  disguise 
to  their  martial  swagger  and  palpable  pride  of  strength. 


THE   SINEWS   OF   WAR  1 5/ 

"Don't  pull,  brotherlings !  "  they  advised;  "put  the 
weight  on  the  rope  and  stand  steady.  So !  Oh,  'tis 
God's  will !  He  has  not  given  the  weight  yet.  It  will 
come,  brothers!     Meanwhile  it  is  fate,  not  defeat." 

But  as  they  turned  carelessly  from  the  end,  one  said  to 
his  neighbour,  ''Arib/tai  !  We  could  have  taught  the  tope 
khana-zvallahs  a  lesson."     And  the  neighbour  laughed. 

"  Yea,  if  they  gave  us  the  chance,  but  they  will  not. 
They  know  we  of  \}s\q.  pnltans  are  bigger  and  stronger 
than  they  of  the  t'iginicnts,  but  they  would  not  have  the 
world  know  it ;  as  if  it  could  not  see  !  " 

As  he  stood  aside  cheerfully,  almost  respectfully,  to 
let  a  smooth-faced  fresh-coloured  boy  in  a  red  coat  pass, 
he  proved  his  words,  for  he  towered  a  good  head  above 
him,  and  could  have  covered  two  of  him  in  breadth. 

Nevill  Lloyd,  standing  beside  the  Arbuthnots'  car- 
riage, overheard  the  remark  and  frowned. 

"  I  should  like  to  challenge  those  fellows,"  he  said 
vexedly.  "  I  know  we  could  pull  'em  over  and  knock 
the  conceit  out  of  'em." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  .''  "  asked  Lesley,  smiling  ;  she 
and  the  aide-de-camp  had  become  fast  friends,  chiefly 
over  their  mutual  devotion  to  Grace  Arbuthnot. 
•  "They  won't  let  us.  They  say  it  is  likely  to  rouse 
ill-feeling  and  all  that.  And  then,"  he  went  on  frankly, 
"  of  course  it  wouldn't  do  to  get  licked  too  often,  you 
know,  and  one  can't  expect  our  boys  to  collar  men  who 
do  dumb-bells  all  day  like  those  fellows  .do." 

Grace,  sitting  beside  Lesley,  thought  they  might  do 
worse. 

But,  boys  or  men,  the  sports  were  good,  and  held  half 
cantonments  and  not  a  few  from  the  city,  interested  in 
the  various  events,  while  the  sun  sank  slowly  to  the 
curiously  limitless  limit  of  the  level  horizon.  Lateefa 
the  kite-maker  was  there,  amongst  others,  finding  a  sale 
for  his  airy  nothingnesses  betweenwhiles,  as  he  passed 
through  the  crowd  with  that  quaint  cry  of  — 

'■'•  Use  eyes  and  choose, 
Eyes  use  and  choose." 


158  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Jehan  Aziz  was  there  also,  in  his  third-best  brocade 
coat,  and  with  a  half-cringing,  half-defiant  avoidance 
of  Mr.  Lucanaster,  who,  red-tied  as  usual,  was  betting 
gloves  with  Mrs.  Chris  Davenant.  For  that,  the  lady 
in  question  told  herself,  was  quite  the  correct  thing  to 
do ;  and  as  the  ball  which  was  to  prove  her  admittance 
into  the  best  society  had  not  yet  come  off,  Mrs.  Chris, 
as  Jack  Raymond  had  predicted,  was  careful.  Though 
in  truth  she  found  a  strict  adherence  to  etiquette  some- 
what slow. 

With  an  easier  code  and  a  greater  inclination  to  scorn 
it,  Sobrai  Begum  was  finding  the  same  thing  in  the  half- 
empty  bazaar,  where  she  had  been  left  in  charge  of  a 
toothless  old  hag  who  had  once  enjoyed  the  doubtful 
dignity  of  Miss  Leezie's  position,  but  who,  having  grown 
too  old  for  the  post,  had  remained  on  in  the  house  as  a 
domestic  drudge  of  the  most  exemplary  pattern.  The 
poor  old  soul,  however,  suffered  from  an  all  too  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  gutters  as  they  lay  reeking  in  the 
chill  dawns,  when  those  for  whom  she  worked  lay  still 
curled  up  in  their  wadded  quilts.  So,  when  an  hour  or 
so  had  been  spent  after  the  approved  fashion  of  her 
kind,  in  cozening  her  charge  out  of  ill-humour,  the 
fever  fiend  seized  on  her,  and  laid  her  by  the  heels  in 
a  backyard,  more  than  half-unconscious. 

Sobrai  therefore,  relaxed  from  surveillance,  began  to 
wonder  sulkily  how  she  had  best  utilise  her  freedom. 
She  had  been  long  enough  with  Miss  Leezie  to  make 
her  remember  Lat^efa's  caution ;  to  make  her  wonder 
if  Dilaram  and  the  old  ways  were  not  best. 

There  was  no  reason,  nevertheless,  why  they  should 
be  so.  She  was  a  clever  girl  in  her  way,  with  an  ances- 
try of  pride  as  well  as  wickedness  ;  and  above  all,  of  a 
fierce  faculty  for  obtaining  personal  gratification. 

And  there  was  none  here.  All  was  rule  and  regula- 
tion. No  freedom,  no  fun,  no  frivolity  ;  in  a  way,  no 
choice.  But  that,  she  told  herself,  was  the  result  of 
Miss  Leezie's  mean  breeding.  Dilaram  enjoyed  herself 
more,  and  so  would  she,  Sobrai  Begum  of  the  King's 


THE  SINEWS   OF   WAR  1 59 

House,  if  she  had  the  management  of  affairs!  Miss 
Leezic  said  it  v/ould  not  pay ;  but  what  was  money 
beside  amusement  ?  And  who  was  Miss  Leezie  to 
judge?  A  low  born,  who  did  not  know,  who  could  not 
play  the  part ! 

A  sudden  determination  to  play  it  for  an  hour,  and 
see  the  result,  seized  on  the  girl.  She  had  the  neces- 
sary dress ;  an  old  one  of  her  mother's,  which  she  had 
brought  with  her  in  case.  The  jewels  were  trumpery, 
of  course,  but  they  looked  well.  There  would  be  time 
for  a  little  fun,  perhaps,  before  her  task-mistress  re- 
turned and  the  bazaar  filled. 

It  was  a  full  hour  after  this  determination  of  hers,  and 
the  dusk  had  begun  to  fall,  when  a  young  fellow  in  a 
red  coat  came  lounging  through  the  still  empty  bazaar. 

He  had  just  come  out  of  a  six  weeks'  sojourn  in  hos- 
pital, and  so  his  pockets  were  full,  for  a  soldier's,  with 
unstopped  ration  money.  He  had,  indeed,  intended  to 
lavish  some  of  it  at  the  sports,  and  so  celebrate  his 
return  to  freedom ;  but,  being  still  given  to  invalid 
habits,  he  had  fallen  asleep  after  barrack  dinner,  only 
awaking  to  find  his  comrades,  and  every  available  con- 
veyance, gone.  So,  feeling  ill-used,  he  had  shirked  the 
walk,  sulked  for  a  while,  and  finally,  having  nothing 
else  to  do,  sought  the  perennial  possibiUties  of  the 
bazaar  round  the  corner. 

Even  that  was  dreary.  Sweetmeat  sellers,  fruit  sellers, 
liquor  sellers,  had  all  followed  their  clients  to  the  Artillery 
parade-ground.  The  very  balconies  were  empty.  So, 
in  a  mood  compounded  of  recklessness  and  bitter  home- 
sickness, he  kicked  up  some  one  in  the  shop  below  Miss 
Leezie's  apartments,  insisted  on  drink,  and  sitting  down 
on  a  chair  placed  for  him  over  the  gutter,  relapsed  into 
a  sort  of  half-fierce,  half-sullen  torpor.  It  was  not  in 
truth  very  lively  for  a  fairly  well  educated  boy,  who  had 
only  himself  to  thank  that  he  was  not  —  as  his  school- 
fellows were,  for  the  most  part  —  a  city  clerk  with  a 
cycle !  But  he  had  been  restless,  and  he  had  read 
Soldiers  Three  and  the  Arabian  Nights. 


l6o  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

■  He  looked  sav^agely  round  the  glowing  gloom  —  for 
the  attractions  of  a  musical  ride  by  torchlight  kept  even 
the  shopkeepers  late,  and  so  the  cavernous  shadows  of 
their  squalid  shops  were  still  unht  —  and  swore  under 
his  breath  at  India,  and  all  its  ways  and  works.  No 
fun,  no  music-halls,  no  anything.  Nothing  worth  being 
wicked  about,  even. 

He  gulped  down  the  vile  mixture  of  flat  soda  and  bad 
brandy,  turned  his  chair  round  to  face  the  houses,  and 
cocking  his  feet  up  on  the  plinth  before  the  stairs  which 
led  up  to  Miss  Leezie's  balconies,  settled  himself  to  wait 
till  the  bazaar  became  lively.  It  would  be  more  so  than 
usual,  of  course,  that  evening,  since  the  men  had  to 
return  to  barracks  through  it.  It  was  only  a  question  of 
waiting  till  some  interest  came  into  life. 

One  came  very  soon  and  quite  unexpectedly. 

This  entrance  to  the  balconies  was  partitioned  off  from 
the  shops  on  either  side,  and  consisted  of  a  tiny,  empty 
square,  hung  with  a  withered  garland  or  two  above  the 
door  which  blocked  the  stairs. 

This  was  closed ;  but  it  opened  slowly,  after  a  time, 
and  a  girl  stepped  out  into  the  square,  that  was  little 
bigger  than  a  sentry-box,  stepped  out  till  the  billowy 
curves  of  faded  brocade  about  her  feet  almost  touched 
those  of  No.  34  B  Company. 

He  sat  up  and  stared.  This  was  something  he  had 
never  seen  before  !     This  was  the  Arabian  Nights  ! 

It  was,  however,  only  Sobrai  in  the  dress  of  a  princess 
of  the  blood  royal ;  softly  orange  and  yellow  in  her  trail- 
ing skirts,  faintly  purple  and  gold  above,  with  a  starred 
green  veil  hiding  all  but  the  gleam  of  sham  jewels,  the 
lustre  of  false  pearls,  and  a  finger-tip  placed  in  warning 
where  the  lips  should  be. 

He  took  the  hint  and  stared  silently,  his  blood  racing 
through  his  veins,  not  from  any  suggestion  of  balconies 
and  their  like,  but  from  curiosity,  from  excitement,  from, 
in  a  way,  the  admiration  which  is  the  antithesis  of  bal- 
conies ;  for  though  he  knew  it  not,  Sobrai's  dress  and 
address  were  those  of  the  virtuous  woman  entertaining 
her  lawful  owner. 


THE   SINEWS   OF   WAR  l6l 

So,  with  a  salaam,  whose  grace  had  been  caught  from 
Noormahal,  the  girl  slipped  to  the  ground  among  her 
brocades,  and  No.  34  B  Company  instinctively  slipped 
his  feet  from  the  plinth  also. 

There  was  silence  for  a  second  or  two ;  then  another 
hand  stole  out  from  the  green  and  gold  stars  that  were 
so  shadowy,  yet  so  clear.  A  hand  clasping  an  hour- 
glass drum  by  its  narrow  waist,  and  twirling  it  gently 
so  that  the  leaded  silken  tassels  on  its  fringe  did  the 
duty  of  fingers,  and  sent  that  strange  unrest  throbbing 
out  into  the  air. 

But  the  voice  that  followed  it  robbed  the  sound  of  its 
usual  character,  and  took  the  restlessness  into  a  definite 
cause.  For  Sobrai's  song  was  not  of  the  bazaars.  It 
was  of  the  palaces.  A  bard's  song  of  old  days  and  dead 
kings,  of  war,  and  death,  and  victory.  No.  34  B  Com- 
pany sat  with  his  hands  clenching  his  knees  and  listened 
almost  stupidly,  until,  suddenly,  a  returning  torch  flung 
a  great  beam  of  glaring  light  into  the  shadows  which 
almost  hid  the  singer,  and  revealed  a  pair  of  black  eyes 
amid  the  stars. 

He  stood  up  then,  and  caught  his  breath  in  hard. 

This  was  ripping,  simply  ripping.  He  had  not  had 
to  use  the  adjective  for  months,  and  with  it  came  back 
a  world  of  recollection  —  of  idle  harmless  larks,  of  boy- 
ish mischief.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  the  figure  under- 
stood, for  a  gleam  of  pure  mischief  came  to  the  black 
eyes,  as  Sobrai  stood  up  also.  In  truth  she  found  it  rip- 
ping also,  the  only  bit  of  fun  she  had  had  in  a  fort- 
nights' freedom  ! 

And  behind  No.  34  B  Company's  red  coat  some  fresh 
spectators  had  gathered,  curious,  surprised. 

A  sudden  dare-devil  delight  seized  on  the  girl,  her 
voice  rose  to  its  fullest  pitch,  she  began  to  dance.  Not 
with  the  posturings  and  suggestions  of  the  bazaar,  but 
with  dignified  gestures  and  scarcely  perceptible  swayings 
suited  to  her  heavy  robes,  and  to  the  words  she  sang. 
And  all  but  her  eyes  were  still  covered  by  the  green  and 
the  stars.     And  now  a  rushlight  or  two,  caught  hastily 


1 62  VOICES  IN    THE  NIGHT 

from  the  neighbouring  shops,  came  to  show  more  dis- 
tinctly that  graceful  figure,  and  a  voice  or  two  in  Eng- 
lish called  out  to  friends  behind  to  come  and  see. 

The  bazaar  was  re-filling ;  but  it  was  forgetting  other 
things  in  her  —  Sobrai ! 

The  thought,  the  unmistakable  admiration,  drove  cau- 
tion to  the  right-about.  Let  Miss  Leezie  come  and  see, 
if  she  chose !  See  that  the  apprentice  had  been  right, 
that  it  was  amusement  people  wanted  ! 

For  the  present,  indeed,  it  seemed  so. 

How  long  the  novelty  might  have  kept  familiarity  in 
check,  it  is  impossible  to  say  ;  for  there  was  Miss  Leezie 
horrified,  indignant,  forcing  her  way  shrilly  through  a 
gathering  of  red-coats  sufficient  to  ruin  the  good  name 
of  her  house,  should  it  be  seen  by  any  of  the  authorities. 

And  Heaven  only  knew  whether  some  might  not  fancy 
that  bazaar  as  a  short-cut  home! 

"  You  let  'er  be  —  she's  worth  ten  o'  your  lot,"  remon- 
strated more  than  one  voice ;  but  No.  34  B  Company 
had  got  further  in  admiration  than  that.  Sobrai,  for  the 
time,  had  captured  his  imagination.  It  was  vice  against 
virtue,  or  at  any  rate  dull  sensuality  against  romance. 

Perhaps  Sobrai  saw  something  of  this  in  his  eyes. 
Anyhow,  with  a  fierce  exultation,  she  threw  back  her 
veil,  and  the  hour-glass  drum,  twirled  above  her  head, 
sent  its  message  out  over  the  clustering  crowd. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Lady  Arbuthnot,  driving  home, 
saw  in  the  flesh  what  she  had  seen  in  her  mind's  eye  — 
the  woman's  figure  centring  a  circle  of  eager  men's 
faces. 

"  Stand  back  !  clear  the  way  !  Htit !  Hut !  "  came  the 
orders  of  policemen,  recalled  to  a  sense  of  duty.  Then 
came  a  louder  one,  as  an  inspector  on  his  way  back  rode 
up  to  see  what  caused  the  block. 

In  an  instant  there  was  an  uproar,  a  boy's  voice, 
"Don't  you  touch  her,  you  — "a  scufifle,  a  blow,  a  fall, 
a  girl's  shriek. 

Finally  there  was  a  lull,  with  two  red-coats,  under  the 
orders  of  a  passing  officer,  holding  back  a  third,  Miss 


THE   SINEWS   OF  WAR  1 63 

Leezie  protesting  innocence,  and  a  girl,  still  defiant, 
shrinking  back  into  the  darkest  corner  of  the  narrow 
entrance. 

"  She  doth  not  belong  to  me,"  shrilled  Miss  Leezie. 
"  She  comes  from  the  city.  I  am  not  responsible.  I 
will  prove  her  thief." 

"  It  is  a  lie  !  I  am  no  thief,"  gasped  Sobrai,  shrinking 
still  further  from  the  policeman,  who  stepped  up  on  to 
the  plinth,  while  the  red-coat,  held  by  the  other  two, 
struggled  madly. 

"  Oh !  dash  it  all,"  muttered  the  officer  to  himself, 
"  this  can't  be  allowed.  Sergeant,  send  your  prisoner  to 
the  quarter-guard  under  escort,  and  see  that  every  one 
returns  to  barracks  at  once.  Constable,  arrest  both 
women." 

Miss  Leezie  fell  on  her  knees  and  shrieked. 

'^  Hitzoor !  I  can  prove  her  thief.  She  hath  pearls 
like  the  Lady-j-rt//z'^'s  pearls.  She  offered  them  to  me 
as  a  bribe  to  take  her  into  my  house  this  very  day,  and 
I,  dissembling,  said  I  would  see,  and  kept  the  pearls  to 
show  the  police.     I  have  them.     She  is  thief  for  sure  !  " 

"Touch  me  not!  I  am  no  thief;  they  are  mine!" 
panted  Sobrai  as  the  policeman  dragged  her  forward. 
Then,  as  the  sense  of  indignity  came  to  her,  she  fought 
desperately.  "I  am  no  thief  —  I  am  no  common  woman. 
Touch  me  not,  I  am  Sobrai  of  the  Nawab's  house  !  The 
pearls  are  his.  I  am  princess,  I  say!  Will  none  help 
me .''     Oh  !  Lateef,  Lateef !  say  it  is  true  !  " 

She  had  broken  from  her  captor  with  sudden,  irresist- 
ible passion,  and  thrown  herself  at  the  feet  of  some 
one  who  had  newly  pushed  his  way  into  the  crowd ;  so, 
her  hands  clasping  a  pair  of  thin  legs,  she  looked  in 
frantic  appeal  to  the  thin  face  of  the  kite-maker. 

But  Lateefa  knew  his  part  of  hanger-on  to  nobility 
better  than  to  admit  anything  derogatory  to  its  honour. 
He  essayed  to  pass  on  with  his  quaint  cry  — 

''  Use  eyes  and  choose, 
Use  and  choose." 


164  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

It  was,  perhaps,  an  unfortunately  well-known  one; 
and  many  of  those  present,  seeing  the  girl's  brocades 
and  remembering  her  gestures,  hesitated ;  while  one 
said  — 

"  He  is  Lateefa  of  Jehan's  house  for  sure.  She  hath 
his  name  pat.     Mayhap  she  says  truth  !  " 

The  sergeant  of  police  pulled  out  another  pair  of 
handcuffs  with  evident  joy. 

"There  is  room  for  both  in  the  lock-up,"  he  said 
cheerfully. 

Lateefa  gave  a  jerk  to  the  string  he  held,  which  sent 
the  single  kite,  which  he  always  reserved  as  his  trade- 
mark, skimming  downwards  in  the  gloom,  to  rise  again 
higher  than  ever. 

"  Mayhap  !  I  am  Lateef,  for  sure,  as  God  made  me. 
And  she  is  what  the  devil  made  her  —  a  woman  !  " 

There  was  something  of  Lateefa's  philosophy  in  the 
police-officer's  words  when,  an  hour  or  two  later,  he 
called  round  at  Government  House  to  say  that  four 
pearls,  apparently  belonging  to  Lady  Arbuthnot's  string, 
had  been  found  in  the  Lai  bazaar  in  a  dancing-girl's 
house. 

"  The  house  where  I  saw  that  girl  as  I  passed .-'  " 
asked  Grace  quickly.  She  felt,  somehow,  that  it  must 
be  so ;  that  there  was  a  fate  in  it. 

"  I  expect  so,"  answered  the  police-ofificer,  then  he 
paused.  "  It  is  likely  to  be  a  troublesome  case,  sir,"  he 
continued,  turning  to  Sir  George,  "  for  she  claims  to 
belong  to  the  Nawab's  house.  And  as  if  that  wasn't 
enough,  it  seems  that  one  of  the  soldiers  knocked  a 
man  down.  Just  knocked  him  down  as  one  would 
anybody,  you  know.  He  seemed  none  the  worse 
for  half  an  hour,  when  he  suddenly  went  out.  Spleen, 
of  course.  I  wonder  when  Tommy  will  remember  that 
half  the  natives  about  him  ought  to  be  in  glass 
cases ! " 

Sir  George  Arbuthnot  frowned  too.  "  It  is  most 
unfortunate;  especially  just  now.  These  women  are 
really"  —  he  paused  and  looked  apologetically  at  his 


THE  SINEWS   OF   WAR  165 

wife.  "  However,  we  shall  have  no  more  of  this  sort 
of  thing.  Both  regiments  go  out  to  Moradki  as  soon 
as  we  can  get  the  carriage  together.  We  settled  that 
finally.     The  desert  will  do  them  good !  " 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    SPIRIT    OF    KINGS    AND    SLAVES 

Jerry  Arbuthnot,  in  his  smart  little  riding-suit,  was 
seated  on  the  top  step  of  John  Ellison's  tomb,  his  pony, 
meanwhile,  held  by  a  sjce,  trying  to  snatch  a  bite  of 
long  grass  growing  close  to  the  bottom  one.  Between 
the  two,  forming  a  pyramid  of  which  the  child's  dainty 
little  figure  made  the  apex,  were  several  other  figures. 
First  of  all,  bareheaded,  eminently  respectable  in  a  clean 
suit  of  drill,  was  Jan-Ali-shan,  seated  sideways  a  step 
below,  his  face  towards  Jerry.  Below  again  —  crouched 
up  knees  and  elbows  —  was  Budlu  the  caretaker,  his  eyes 
on  Jan-Ali-shan's ;  and  beside  him,  resplendent  in  red 
coat  and  gold  lace,  the  Mohammedan  chiiprassi  told  off 
to  accompany  his  little  master  on  his  morning  rides. 
For  the  dew  still  lay  heavy  on  the  grass,  like  hoar-frost, 
so  that  the  hoopoes,  hopping  over  it  in  the  search  for  food, 
left  greener  trails  behind  them  to  lattice  the  grey  glisten. 

"  Then,"  came  the  child's  clear,  high  voice,  "  you  are 
quite  the  most  youngest  hero  of  the  lot —  sir." 

He  hesitated  over  the  title ;  finally  gave  it,  palpably, 
as  a  tribute  to  the  heroism,  perhaps  to  the  name.  Jan- 
Ali-shan  brushed  a  faint  speck  of  dust  from  his  white 
drill.  "  That  is  so,  sir.  I  was  but  a  two  month  when  I 
done  the  job,  an'  that  don't  leave  much  margin  for  hon- 
est competition.  It  runs  to  a  mono-polly  ;  that's  what  it 
do,  sir,  a  regular  mono-polly."     He  tailed  off  into 

"  Polly,  my  Polly  ;  she  is  so  jolly, 
The  joUiest  craft  in  the  world  ! " 

which  he  carolled  cheerfully,  making  the  hoopoes  cock 
their  crests  and  hold  their  heads  on  one  side  to  listen. 

Jerry  sat  looking  at  them  thoughtfully.  "  I  was 
afwaid  you  must  be,  'cos,  you  see,  it's  such  ages  ago," 

i66 


THE  SPIRIT   OF  KINGS  AND  SLAVES  1 6/ 

he  said  at  last,  argumentatively.  "  Ages  an'  ages.  I 
wasn't  even  near  horned  then.  How  much  older'n  me 
d'you  s'ppose  you  are,  sir.'"' 

It  was  Jan-AH-shan's  turn  to  look  at  Heaven's 
messenger-birds  thoughtfully,  and  admire  their  golden 
crowns.  Then  he  drew  his  white  drill  cuffs  down  over 
his  tanned  wrists,  as  if  to  hide  as  much  of  himself  as 
was  possible. 

"Older.''"  he  echoed.  "Why  —  six-an'-thirty  year,  I 
should  say ;  six-an'-thirty  year  o'  constant  wickedness 

—  that's  about  it,  sir  —  o'  constant  wickedness,  please 
God !  "  He  hovered  over  a  penitential  response  in  a 
minor  key,  and  then  nodded  at  the  child  cheerfully. 
"  But  don't  you  fret,  sir.  There  ain't  no  call  for  it. 
You're  all  right  —  your  time'll  come;  only  you  must 
grow  a  bit  more,  or  you  wouldn't  never  fill  a  grave  like 
this  —  would  'e,  Budlu  .-*  " 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  tombstone  and  smiled ;  so 
did  Budlu  and  the  chuprassi,  uncomprehendingly ;  so, 
reluctantly,  did  Jerry. 

"It's  an  orful  time  to  wait,"  he  said  regretfully,  "an' 
there's  goin'  to  be  a  row  quite  soon.  Dad  doesn't  say 
so,  but  he  thinks  it ;  for  I  heard  'em  talking  of  what 
they'd  have  to  do  if  there  was  one ;  but  they  hadn't 
settled  when  Miss  Dwummond  came  for  me.  What  do 
you  think  would  be  the  best  thing,  Mr.  Ellison  .?  " 

"  Lick  'em,  sir,  for  sure,"  replied  Jan-Ali-shan  suc- 
cinctly. 

Jerry's  face  flushed  sharply,  almost  with  vexation. 

"  Oh !  of  course,  we'd  lick  'em ;  but  I  meant  what 
kind  of  things,  just  to  show  *em,  you  know,  that  —  that  " 

—  he  paused,  as  he  often  did,  bewildered  by  his  own 
thoughts. 

"  Show  'em  1 "  echoed  John  Ellison.  "  Show  'em  .-• 
Why  !  show  'em,  that  it's  '  as  you  was  !  '  That  there 
ain't  no  change.     That  it's  still  flags  flyin'  an' 

'  Gord  save  our  gracious  Queen.'  " 

Jerry  rose  solemnly  and  took  off  his  cap  as  the  notes 


1 68  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

of  the  National  Anthem  floated  out  over  the  garden 
mound  into  the  crisp  morning  air,  in  which  even  the 
nearer  shadows  showed  blue  as  the  distant  ones. 

"  I  thought  that  would  be  it  myself,"  he  commented, 
heaving  a  sigh  of  relief,  "but  I'm  glad  to  be  sure. 
Thanks,  so  much." 

The  others,  duteously  following  his  lead,  had  risen 
also,  and  now  Jan-Ali-shan,  who  had  reached  for  the 
helmet  which  had  been  lying  on  the  steps  beside  him, 
stood  looking  into  it  with  a  half-prayerful  expression 
before  putting  it  on ;  for  time  was  passing,  and  he  was 
due  at  his  work. 

"You're  welcome,  sir,  kindly  welcome,"  he  said,  after 
a  pause.  "  So  jest  you  wait  patient  —  say  six-an'-thirty 
year.  An'  then,  if  you  ain't  got  an  'ero's  grave  of  your 
own  as  you  can  slip  into  when  you  fancies  it  —  why, 
John  Ellison  —  that's  me,  sir — '11  up  an'  give  you  'is, 
an'  —  an'  —  chanst  the  constant  wickedness!  There, 
sir  "  —  he  spoke  with  conscious  pride  in  the  magnitude 
of  his  offer  —  "  I  can't  say  fairer  nor  that,  so  there's  my 
'and  on  it ;  for  if  ever  there  was  a  chip  of  the  old  block, 
it's  you,  sir  —  the  chippiest  of  the  chippiest." 

He  reached  out  a  big  brown  paw,  and  Jerry  with 
great  dignity  laid  his  soft  white  one  in  it. 

"Thanks  orfully,"  said  the  child,  "but  I  won't  bovver 
you ;  I'll  get  one  of  my  vewy  own,  please." 

"  You  bet!  "  remarked  Jan-Ali-shan  briefly.  "That's 
the  game  to  play.  Same  as  'im  and  me  played  forty  years 
back.  Same's  you  and  some  other  chap  '11  play  forty 
years  on.  Time's  no  hobject,  only  a  comfortable  'ome. 
Well,  good  day  to  you,  sir ;  an'  if  ever  you  wants  John 
Ellison,  you'll  find  me  here,  mornin's  and  evenin's,  most 
days,  on  my  way  to  work ;  for  'e  and  me's  been  pals  a 
many  years." 

As  he  walked  off  jauntily,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
he  paraphrased  "John  Anderson,  my  Jo,"  into  Ellison, 
and  put  the  expression  stop  full  on  at  the  last  quatrain. 

''Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 
But  hand  in  hand  we'll  come 
'nd  sleep  together  at  the  foot." 


THE   SPIRIT   OF  KINGS  AND   SLAVES  1 69 

He  paused  here  at  the  gate  which  ended  the  rising  path, 
and  waved  a  hand  back  at  the  group  in  the  hollow,  ere 
the  snick  of  the  latch  started  him  again  on  the  refrain, 

"John  Ellison,  my  chum." 

So  he  passed,  with  a  curious  mixture  of  swing  and 
slouch,  along  the  dusty  roads  towards  the  railway  station, 
which  lay  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  the  bridge.  Like  the  latter,  it  was  a 
semi-fortified  structure,  capable  of  some  defence.  The 
more  so  because  the  city  wall,  which  it  faced,  was  in 
itself  an  obstacle  to  attack  from  that  quarter ;  since  it 
was  largely  a  retaining  wall  to  the  higher  ground  of  the 
city  within,  and  therefore  solid,  blank ;  until  at  the  river 
end  it  jutted  into  a  bastion,  loopholed  and  embrasured. 
But  even  this  would  be  of  little  use  to  a  foe,  for  the 
brickwork  was  cracked  from  the  parapet  right  down  to 
the  water's  edge,  and  the  whole  building  sloped  out- 
wards, as  if  even  the  firing  of  a  cannon  would  send  it 
toppling  over  into  the  river.  Indeed,  the  advisability 
of  so  sending  it  safely  under  control  of  science,  before 
chance  interfered  and  sent  it  crashing  into  the  railway 
bridge,  had  more  than  once  been  urged  on  the  author- 
ities. The  bastion,  however,  happened  to  be  part  of  a 
royal  building  which  had  been  given  for  life  to  a  very 
old  pensioner ;  so  it  had  been  decided  that  destruction 
should  await  his  death,  unless  matters  became  worse. 

Therefore  Jehan,  as  head  of  the  six  hundred  of  his 
like  in  Nushapore,  still  found  it  the  best  place  in  the 
whole  city  whence  to  fly  kites ;  for  there  was  generally 
a  breeze  off  the  river,  and  daylight  lingered  long, 
reflected  from  the  glistening  water. 

So,  at  all  times  of  the  day,  and  occasionally  by  the 
help  of  a  full  moon,  the  royal  pensioners  gathered 
strong  on  the  bastion.  Quite  a  little  court  of  them  — 
reminiscent,  strangely,  of  that  dead  dispossessed  court 
of  old  days  —  centred  round  Jehan  the  Heir  of  all 
Things  or  Nothing.     And  they  would  pledge  and  pawn 


lyo  VOICES  LV   THE  NIGHT 

everything  they  possessed,  except  their  pride,  on  the 
results  of  Lateefa's  skill  with  paste  and  paper. 

Half  a  dozen  or  more  of  these  courtiers  without  a 
court  or  a  king  were  lounging  on  the  bastion  waiting 
for  Jehan  to  fly  a  match  with  another  princeling  of 
royal  blood,  when  Jan-Ali-shan's  trolly  skimmed  past 
on  the  line  below  it.  They  craned  their  yellow  faces 
to  look  at  him  and  the  little  knot  of  coolies  who  were 
pushing  all  they  knew  at  the  trolly ;  for  Chris  Dave- 
nant  had  bidden  his  overseer  be  at  the  drawbridge 
pier  at  eight  o'clock  to  look  over  the  machinery,  and  it 
was  already  five  minutes  past  the  hour.  So  Jan-Ali- 
shan  had  first  hustled  his  own  subordinates  with  oaths 
and  abuse,  into  the  utmost  haste,  and  was  now  preparing 
the  half-confidential,  half-apologetic  look  of  an  offender 
for  his  own  face  —  since  he  could  see  his  superior 
officer's  figure  leaning  over  the  iron  lattice  of  the  bridge 
waiting  for  him.  Hurried  as  he  was,  however,  he  looked 
up,  waved  his  hand  to  the  group  on  the  bastion,  and 
called,  " Ravi-mm,  gents,  and  MoJionwicd-nissool I''  a 
salutation  (compounded  from  Hindoo  and  Mohammedan 
formulae)  which,  he  would  explain  elaborately,  prevented 
him  from  "  either  'inderin'  weak  brothers,  or  bowin'  in 
any  particklar  'ouse  o'  Rimming."  For  his  seven  years 
in  a  "  surplus  chore  "  had  given  him  a  curious  knowledge 
of  Scripture. 

"  We  had  better  begin  by  seeing  if  the  hydraulic  tank 
is  full  up,"  said  Chris  calmly,  as  the  trolly  stopped  in 
prompt  obedience  to  Jan-Ali-shan's  imperative,  "  Woa ! 
I  say  woa  !  Didn't  I  tell  yer  to  tyro  (stop)  at  the  pyli 
(first)  pier." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  he  answered,  his  face  expressing  a  cer- 
tain disappointment ;  and  as  he  obeyed  orders  by  climb- 
ing up  an  iron  ladder  which  the  coolies  brought  from  its 
hooks  on  the  pier,  and  fixed  to  a  reservoir  on  the  roof 
of  the  arched  gateway,  he  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  It  don't  give  a  chap  a  fair  chanst,"  he  muttered  to 
himself  as  he  mounted  higher  and  higher.  "  It  ain't 
bracin'   enough,  that's  what  it   ain't.     Now,  if    'e'd  a 


THE   SPIRIT   OF  KIXGS  AXD   SLAVES  171 

said,  '  D — n  you,  if  you're  late  agin,  I'll  cut  yer  pay,'  it 
'u'd  'ave  given  a  fellow  a  straight  tip  up  the  narrer 
path."  Here  he  paused  to  measure  with  a  foot-rule, 
and  hummed  the  while, 

"A  banner  with  a  strange  device  —  Ex — eel — si — or." 

"  An'  it  don't  come  'ome  to  the  'eart  if  )^ou  says  it 
yourself,"  he  added  despondently,  "  not  even  if  you  uses 
fancy  swears." 

These  had  an  excellent  effect,  however,  on  the  coolies, 
to  whom  they  came  simply  as  forcible  imperatives ;  so 
that  in  a  very  few  minutes  the  iron  girders  on  either 
side  had  reared  themselves  back  on  the  central  tower, 
and  the  little  party  stood  isolated  both  from  the  bridge 
and  the  bank. 

"  It's  as  right  as  a  trivet,  sir !  "  said  John  Ellison, 
"  barrin'  bein'  a  bit  stiff  on  the  crank,  but  a  drop  o' 
hoil'll  set  that  easy,  for  it  ain't  a  ten-men  job,  as  they 
made  it,  but  a  two  —  that's  what  it  is  —  a  two  at 
most." 

But  when  the  drop  of  oil  had  been  applied,  two  men 
failed  to  start  the  hydraulic  pressure,  much  to  Jan-Ali- 
shan's  disgust.  He  set  one  couple  after  another  of  his 
men  to  tackle  the  job,  without  avail. 

"  Look  'ere,  sir,"  he  said  at  last,  persuasively,  "  I'd 
take  it  a  kindness  if  you'd  jest  lend  me  the  sight  o'  your 
'and  for  a  moment.  If  I  does  it  all  myself,  they'll  begin 
to  talk  that  ik-bally  ^  rot  o'  theirs,  like  as  I  was  Sandow 
himself,  but  if  they  see  your  'and  in  it  too,  it'll  be  'uman 
beings  —  that's  what  it'll  be." 

So  Chris  Davenant's  thin  nervous  brown  hand  gripped 
the  spindle,  and  Jan- Ali-shan's  great  paw  —  fresh  as  it 
was  from  the  clasp  of  Jerry's  small  one  —  gripped  the 
spindle  also.  The  two,  side  by  side,  feeling  each  other's 
touch,  feeling,  for  all  we  know,  that  other  touch  of  the 
child  who  would  come  to  such  man's  work  after  long 
years.     Why  should  it  not  make  itself  felt,  in  more  ways 

Ikbal,  lit.  power,  prestige. 


172  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

than  one,  that  strange  force  which  bids  the  race  continue, 
which  gives  the  spirit  of  kings  or  the  spirit  of  slaves  ? 

Then,  with  a  slow  gurgle,  the  water  filled  the  cylinder, 
and  the  massive  iron  girders  came  down  once  more,  to 
bridge  the  gulf  and  make  a  permanent  way  between  the 
east  and  the  west  banks  of  the  wide  river,  which  slid 
past  silently,  bringing  no  message  from  its  birthplace, 
taking  no  message  to  its  grave  in  the  sea. 

"Best  'ave  'er  up  an'  down  agin  onst  more,  sir,"  said 
Jan-Ali-shan,  "  then  there'll  be  fair  odds  on  a  continoo- 
ance  of  virtoo.     There's  nothin'  like  'abit,  sir." 

He  heaved  a  regretful  sigh,  and  this  time  the  water 
gurgled  out  of  the  cylinder. 

"  Behaves  beautiful,  she  do,"  he  commented  when,  the 
drawbridge  having  risen  and  descended  again,  he  had 
set  the  coolies  to  work  pumping  a  fresh  supply  of  water 
into  the  cistern,  and  had  gone  himself  to  lean  over  the 
iron  latticing  at  a  decently  respectful  distance  from  his 
superior  officer,  who  was  doing  the  same  thing.  The 
parting  stream  —  its  perfect  placidity  lost  by  the 
obstruction  of  the  wide  pier  —  swept  under  the  girders 
in  little  petulant  wrinkles  and  furrows.  But  even 
through  these  sears  and  seams  of  current,  the  jutting 
spit  of  rock  —  which  yielded  firm  foothold  for  this  first 
span  of  the  railway  bridge,  yet  with  equal  impartiality 
gave  firm  foundation  closer  in  shore  to  the  new  temple 
of  Kali  which  challenged  the  old  temple  of  Viseshwar 
—  could  be  seen,  clearly  or  dimly,  as  its  broken  contours 
dipped  or  rose  beneath  the  water. 

"  Quite  the  lydy,  she  is,"  went  on  Jan-Ali-shan,  con- 
tinuing his  approval  of  the  drawbridge.  "  Ain't  got  no 
games  in  'er  —  'olds  out  'er  arms  if  she  likes  you,  an' 
draws  in  'er  arms  if  she  don't.     That's  the  sort." 

And  then  some  link  of  thought  started  him  on  a  song 
which  shared  first  favourite  honours  with 

"Hergolding  'air  all  'anging  down  'er  back," 

in  the  estimation  of  his  sing-song   audiences,  and  the 
notes  of 

"  Where'er  you  walk  " 


THE   SPIRIT   OF  KINGS  AND   SLA  VES  1 73 

echoed  out  over  the  river,  and  made  the  bathers  on  the 
temple  steps,  who  had  been  watching  the  proceedings, 
look  up  once  more  towards  the  bridge. 

"Where'er  you  walk, 
Cool  gales  shall  fan  the  glade ; 
Trees  where  you  sit 
Shall  crowd  into  a  shade  ; 

Where'er  you  tread,  the  blushing  flowers  shall  rise, 
And  all  things  flourish  where  you  turn  your  eyes."' 

The  most  passionate,  yet  the  purest,  praise  a  woman 
ever  won  from  man,  perfect  in  its  self-forgetfulness,  in 
its  delight  in  the  admiration  of  the  whole  world  for  what 
is  praised,  fell  from  John  Ellison's  lips  in  almost  perfect 
style,  for  he  had  been  taught  the  song  in  those  early 
days  of  surpliced  choirs. 

And  Chris  Davenant,  as  he  listened,  staring  out  'over 
the  river,  clenched  his  hands  on  the  iron  rail  in  a  sudden 
passion  of  self-pity. 

This  is  what  he  had  found  in  the  poets  of  the  West ! 
This  was  what  he  had  sought  in  the  prose  of  life  !  It 
was  for  this  he  had  forsaken  so  much  —  this  white-robed 
woman  with  the  breezes  cooling  the  hot  blood,  and  the 
trees  crowding  to  shade  her  from  the  fierce  heat  of  noon! 

And  he  had  found  — what  .■* 

Something  worse  .^  —  yes! — for  one  brief  second  he 
admitted  the  truth  that  it  ivas  worse ;  that  Naraini, 
despite  her  ignorance,  would  have  given  him  something 
nearer  to  that  ideal  of  all  men  who  were  worth  calling 
men,  than  Viva  with  her  cigarettes,  her  pink  ruffles,  her 
strange  mixture  of  refinement  and  coarseness,  of  abso- 
lute contempt  for  passion  and  constant  appeal  to  it. 
Why  had  he  ever  forsaken  his  people  .'  Why  had  he 
ever  forsaken  her  —  Naraini  .■' 

"  I  am  Brahmin,  my  hand  is  pure." 

The  memory  of  her  voice,  her  face,  as  she  spoke  the 
words  returned  to  him,  and,  with  an  irresistible  rush,  all 
that  had  swept  him  from  his  moorings,  swept  him  from 
the  common  current  of  the  lives  around  him,  all  the 
sentimentality,    all    the    intuitive    bias   towards    things 


174  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

spiritual,  swept  him  back  again  to  that  life  —  and  to 
Naraini. 

"  It's  a  rippin'  song,  ain't  it,  sir  ? "  remarked  Jan-Ali- 
shan,  who  had  been  warbling  away  at  the  runs  and  trills 
like  any  blackbird,  as  he  watched  Chris  Davenant's 
listening  face.  "  Wraps  itself  round  a  feller  somehow. 
Kep'  me  from  a  lot  o'  tommy  rot,  that  song  'as  in  my 
time,  an'  sent  me  to  the  flowing  bowl  instead." 

As  he  walked  over  to  see  if  the  tank  was  full,  he 
whistled, 

"  Let  the  toast  pass,  here's  to  the  lass, 
ril  warrant  she'll  prove  an  excuse  for  a  glass  " 

with  jaunty  unconcern.  He  returned  in  a  moment,  the 
coolies  behind  him  carrying  the  iron  ladder  back  to  its 
hooks  on  the  pier. 

"All  right,  sir,"  he  repoi'ted.  "Give  'er  two  men  an' 
she'll  'old  her  own  against  a  thousand." 

Chris,  absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  made  an  effort  to 
wrench  himself  from  them  by  assenting. 

"  Yes.  They'd  find  it  difficult  without  guns,  unless 
they  could  manage  it  by  the  river." 

Jan-Ali-shan  shook  his  head.  "  Not  if  we'd  a  rifle  or 
two  aboard,  sir,  to  nick  'em  off  in  the  boats." 

"  Couldn't  they  get  along  the  spit,"  suggested  Chris, 
absolutely  at  random. 

"  Might  be  done,  mayhap,"  admitted  the  other,  after 
a  reflective  pause.  "  Leastways,  if  you  was  a  '  Rajn 
Ra^mner'  an'  'ad  a  right  o'  way  through  the  'ouse  o' 
Rimming  —  beg  pardin,  sir,  though  you  'ave  chucked 
old  'Oneyman  an'  'is  lot  —  I  mean,  if  you  was  a  Hindoo 
an'  they'd  let  you  through  the  temple.  But  even  then 
we  could  nick  'em  in  the  water  afore  they  could  get 
ropes  slung." 

"  There's  the  ladder,"  suggested  Chris  once  more.  He 
was  not  thinking  of  what  he  said.  He  was  asking  him- 
self what  he  had  not  "  chucked  "  away  recklessly  .-'  "  It 
is  only  about  six  feet  up  ;  they  could  easily  —  " 

"  They  could  easily  do  a  lot  if  they  was  let,  sir,"  in- 


THE  SPIRIT   OF  KINGS  AND  STAVES  1 75 

terrupted  Jan-Ali-shan,  as  he  turned  to  go,  with  a  pity- 
ing look.  "  But  we  don't  let  'em.  That's  how  it  is. 
An'  we  ain't  such  bally  fools  as  to  leave  'em  ladders. 
No,  sir  !  Two  men  —  if  they  was  men  —  'u'd  keep  that 
pier  a  Christian  country  for  a  tidy  time." 

As  the  trolly  buzzed  back  stationwards,  the  group  of 
yellow  faces  above  the  faded  brocades  gave  up  watching 
the  manoeuvres  of  the  drawbridge,  and  returned  to  their 
kite-flying  ;  and  on  the  bathing-steps  the  men  and  women 
returned  to  the  day's  work.  On  the  bastion  there  was 
a  shade  more  listless  doubt  and  dislike,  on  the  steps  a 
shade  more  uneasy  wonder  as  to  the  signs  of  the  times. 
That  was  all. 

Only  Burkut  Ali,  as  he  weighted  his  kite's  tail  with  an 
extra  grain  or  two  of  rice,  nodded  his  head,  and  said 
with  a  sinister  look  — 

"Two  could  play  that  game,  and  the  first  come  would 
be  master.     *  He  who  sits  on  the  tlirone  is  king.'  " 

"  And  he  who  sits  not  is  none,"  added  Jehan's  an- 
tagonist with  a  wink.  He  had  quarrelled  two  days 
before  with  the  Rightful  Heir's  pretensions  to  authority 
in  the  matter  of  a  dancing-girl,  and  so,  for  the  time 
being,  headed  the  dissentient  party  which,  with  ever- 
shifting  numbers  and  combinations,  made  the  royal 
house  —  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  the  authorities  — 
one  divided  against  itself.  "  If  the  Sun  of  the  Universe 
is  ready,"  he  went  on,  with  mock  ceremony,  "  his  slave 
waits  to  begin  the  match." 

Jehan's  face  sharpened  with  anger.  He  had  come 
there  in  an  evil  temper,  because,  after  having  virtuously 
denied  himself  an  over-night  orgy  for  the  sake  of  steady- 
ing his  hand  for  the  match,  Lateefa  —  on  whom  he 
had  relied  for  a  super-excellent  new  kite  —  had  neither 
turned  up  nor  sent  an  excuse  ;  consequently  the  chances 
of  victory  were  small.  And  now  this  ill-conditioned 
hound  was  palpably  insolent.  The  fact  roused  Jehan's 
pretensions,  and  made  him  assert  them. 

"  I  fly  no  kite  to-day,"  he  said  haughtily,  "  the  match 
will  be  to-morrow." 


176  VOICES  IN   THE  ALIGHT 

His  opponent  smiled.  "As  my  lord  chooses!"  he 
replied  coolly,  "  his  slave  is  ready  to  give  revenge  at 
any  time." 

"Revenge!"  echoed  Jehan  sharply,  "wherefor  re- 
venge.''    There  is  no  defeat." 

"  His  Highness  forgets,"  said  the  other,  with  a  pre- 
tence of  humility  scarcely  hiding  his  malice,  "  the  Most 
Learned,  being  member  of  race-clubs,  must  know  that 
'  scratch  '  is  victory  to  the  antagonist.  This  day's  match 
therefore  is  mine.     Is  not  that  the  rule,  mcca7i  ?  " 

He  appealed  to  the  most  sporting  member  of  the 
court,  but  Jehan,  without  waiting  for  his  verdict,  broke 
into  fierce  invective,  and  had  passed  from  the  rules  to 
the  rulers,  when  Burkut  —  who  had  been  listening  with 
that  sinister  look  of  his  —  touched  him  peremptorily  on 
the  arm,  and  said  — 

"  Have  a  care,  '^2i\vah-sahib,  some  one  comes." 

Jehan  turned  quickly,  and  saw  behind  him  a  sergeant 
of  poUce. 

He  came  with  a  summons  for  the  Nawab-Jrt///(^  Jehan 
Aziz  to  attend  at  once  at  the  cantonment  police-station. 

Still  confused  by  his  anger,  and  scarcely  master  of 
himself,  Jehan  stood  looking  at  the  paper  put  in  his 
hand,  and  trying  to  disentangle  from  the  smudge  of  the 
lithographed  form  the  few  written  words  which  would 
give  him  a  key  to  the  rest. 

The  first  he  saw  was  "  Sobrai  Begnni^'  the  next 
''  Latecfar 

They  pulled  his  pride  and  his  cunning  together  in 
quick  self-defence.  Though  a  fierce  longing  to  have 
the  jade's  throat  within  the  grip  of  his  thin  fingers 
surged  up  in  him,  the  desire  to  put  her  away  privily  was 
stronger.  He  folded  up  the  paper  with  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulders,  and  turned  on  the  curious  faces  around  him. 

" 'Tis  only  Lateefa  in  trouble  with  a  woman,"  he 
began. 

"  And  they  need  his  master's  virtue  to  get  him  out  of 
it!"  sneered  his  opponent.  "'Tis  too  bad;  were  I  the 
Nawab,  I  would  keep  mine  for  my  own  use  —  " 


THE  SPIRIT   OF  KINGS  AND   SLA  VES  1 77 

The  Rightful  Heir  glared  at  the  jiber,  and  a  vast 
resentment  at  his  own  impotence  came  to  the  descend- 
ant of  kings.  Why  was  he  not  able,  as  his  fathers  had 
been,  to  sweep  such  vermin  from  his  path  ?  Why  had 
he  to  obey  the  orders  of  every  jack  in  office  ?  Then  for 
Sobrai  herself.  W^hy  could  he  not  settle  her  in  the 
good  old  fashion  without  any  one's  help } 

As  he  drove  over  to  cantonments  in  the  ramshackle 
wagonette  this  desire  overbore  the  others,  and  his  cun- 
ning centred  round  the  possibility  of  getting  the  baggage 
back  to  the  ruined  old  house,  where  screams  could  be 
so  easily  stifled. 

The  first  step,  of  course,  was  to  see  Lateefa  in  private 
and  hear  his  version  of  the  story.  That  meant  ten 
rupees  to  the  constable  in  charge  of  the  lock-up,  but  it 
was  better  to  pay  that,  at  first,  than  hundreds  of  rupees 
of  hush-money  afterwards  if  the  police  went  against 
you. 

So  the  silver  key  slipped  into  the  sergeant's  pocket, 
and  the  iron  one  came  out  which  opened  the  barred 
door  behind  which  Lateefa  sat  like  a  wild  beast  in  a 
cage  —  Sobrai,  meanwhile,  being  accommodated  with 
free  lodgings  under  the  charge  of  an  old  hag  in  a  dis- 
creetly private  cell  round  the  corner ! 

Jehan's  face  grew  more  and  more  savage  as  he  lis- 
tened to  what  the  kite-maker  had  to  tell ;  and  that  was 
a  good  deal,  for  he  had  gossiped  half  the  night  with  the 
sentry  on  duty  ! 

Miss  Leezie  —  Sobrai  singing  in  the  public  bazaar  to 
the  soldiers  —  all  this  was  so  much  gall  and  wormwood 
to  the  Nawab's  pride.  It  almost  made  him  forget  the 
theft  of  the  pearls ;  the  more  so  because  the  idea  of  the 
latter  was  not  quite  new  to  him.  Mr.  Lucanaster's 
assertion  that  there  were  five  amissing,  joined  to  the 
fact  that  poor  Aunt  Khojee,  hoping  thereby  to  smooth 
over  the  quarrel  between  him  and  Noormahal,  had 
brought  him  one  pearl  which  had  been  found  in  a  rent 
in  a  cushion,  had  made  him  suspicious  that  Sobrai  had 
the  rest;  that  this,  indeed,  had  been  at  the  bottom  of 


178  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

her  flight.  It  was  only,  therefore,  when  Lateefa  pointed 
out  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  prove  that  these  pearls 
of  Sobrai's  were  not  the  Y^z.^y-saJiiU %  pearls,  before  the 
girl  —  free  from  the  suspicion  of  theft  —  could  be 
handed  over  to  her  lawful  guardians,  that  he  realised 
it  would  not  be  enough  to  say  that  they  were  his,  that 
he  had  given  them  to  the  girl,  who  —  despite  her  evil 
doings  —  he  was  willing  to  receive  back  again  into  his 
virtuous  house.  For  the  possibility  of  denying  her 
assertion  that  she  belonged  to  it,  had,  he  felt,  vanished 
with  her  unfortunate  recognition  of  Lateefa. 

But  now  there  must  be  proof,  and  the  proof  lay  in 
Mr.  Lucanaster's  hands. 

Jehan  felt  hemmed  in,  harried  on  all  sides,  and  he 
was  the  poorer  by  fifty  rupees  before  he  bribed  his  way 
to  an  informal  interview  with  the  cantonment  magis- 
trate, and  was  able  to  lay  before  that  official  a  carefully- 
concocted  admixture  of  truth  and  falsehood  which 
should  help  to  secure  what  he  chiefly  needed,  secrecy 
and  delay. 

To  this  end,  by  Lateefa's  advice,  he  made  it  appear 
that  Sobrai  had  been  enticed  away  by  Miss  Leezie,  and 
pointed  out  that  such  a  tale  might  give  rise  to  trouble 
—  complicated  as  it  was  by  that  fatal  blow  of  No.  34  B 
Company's  —  if  it  became  known,  especially  in  these 
restless  times.  Much,  therefore,  as  he  felt  the  injury, 
the  disgrace  to  himself  and  his  house,  he  was  willing  to 
hold  his  tongue  about  it  provided  otJier people  held  tJicirs. 
As  for  the  pearls,  if,  after  private  inquiries,  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  prove  his  words,  he  would  do  so. 
And,  in  the  meantime,  it  would  only  cause  suspicion  if 
Lateefa,  who  was  known  to  be  a  member  of  his  house- 
hold, were  detained. 

The  cantonment  magistrate  looked  at  him  doubtfully  ; 
he  was  almost  too  suave,  too  sensible.  Yet  there  could 
be  no  doubt  that  the  case  might  be  a  troublesome  one. 
As  the  Nawab  said,  Miss  Leezie  might  be  fined  for 
keeping  her  house  disorderly,  Sobrai  detained  pending 
inquiries,  and    Lateefa   dismissed  without  in  any  way 


THE  SPIRIT   OF  KINGS  AND   SLA  VES  1 79 

militating  against  the  ordinary  course  of  justice,  should 
the  Nawab's  version  prove  false ;  and  if  not,  he  was,  in 
a  way,  entitled  to  consideration.  Especially  if  he  would 
keep  the  abduction  quiet,  in  view  of  that  possible  mur- 
der case. 

"  You  had  better  come  up  again  in  two  or  three  days," 
said  the  magistrate  finally,  "  by  which  time  the  police, 
who  will  have  instructions  to  conduct  their  inquiries  in 
strict  confidence,  will  know  if  they  require  proofs,  and 
you  could  produce  the  remaining  pearls,  of  course.  If 
they  do  not,  the  girl  shall  be  handed  over  to  you  as  her 
natural  guardian,  and  that  will  end  the  matter,  unless 
her  evidence  is  required." 

^^Hiizoor !"  said  Jehan,  with  profuse  salaams,  "that 
would  end  the  matter  to  my  complete  satisfaction  and 
eternal  gratitude." 

The  look  about  his  red  betel-stained  lips,  as  they 
wreathed  themselves  with  obsequious  smiles,  was  that 
of  a  carnivorous  animal  which  scents  its  prey,  and  there 
was  almost  a  triumph  in  his  face  as  he  drove  back  to 
the  city  with  Lateefa.  He  felt  himself  powerful  for 
once ;  for  he  knew  that  if  once  he  could  get  Sobrai 
back,  he  could  torture  and  kill  the  girl  behind  the 
purdah,  which  none  would  dare  to  invade ;  in  which  he 
was  still  king  —  as  much  a  king  as  any  of  his  ancestors. 

If  he  could  get  her  there ! 

The  only  difficulty  in  the  way  of  that,  Jehan  knew 
and  faced  instantly. 

If  proof  were  needed,  Lucanaster  would  never  give 
up  the  pearls,  never  forbear  saying  that  in  his  opinion 
they  were  the  'Ldidy-sahib's  and  none  other,  unless  he 
got  the  emerald  in  exchange.  Well !  he,  Jehan,  must 
have  the  emerald  ready  in  case  it  was  wanted.  Then 
the  thought  that  he  might  have  so  had  it,  ready  in  his 
own  possession,  but  for  little  Sa'adut,  made  him  call 
himself  a  fool  for  yielding  to  the  child's  tears. 

They  would  have  been  over  and  forgotten  in  a  minute  ; 
for  what  could  the  child  want  with  an  emerald  ring .''  A 
useless  bauble,  not  even  fit  to  be  a  toy ! 


CHAPTER   XII 

A  mother's  dirge 

But  little  Sa'adut  was  of  a  different  opinion.  He 
had  found  that  question  as  to  which  of  his  fingers  came 
nearest  to  filling  the  gold  circle  of  the  ring  an  absolutely 
entrancing  one ;  the  more  so  because,  from  some  reason 
or  another,  those  fingers  had  suddenly  taken  to  wasting 
away.  Thus,  the  two  which  fitted  best  one  day  might 
not  be  the  two  which  fitted  best  on  the  next. 

"  Lo !  the  ring  hath  bewitched  him!"  whimpered 
Aunt  Khadjee,  when  the  child  could  scarcely  be  dis- 
tracted from  the  puzzle  to  take  the  food  which  only 
Auntie  Khojee  could  coax  him  to  eat. 

Patient  Auntie  Khojee,  who  would  have  sat  all  day 
and  all  night  beside  the  string  cot  like  that  other  woman's 
figure,  if  there  had  not  been  so  many  things  which  only 
she  could  do,  now  that  they  had  no  servant  at  all.  So 
Noormahal  alone,  her  face  half  hidden  in  her  veil, 
watched  the  child  hungrily ;  since  from  some  reason 
or  another,  as  mysterious  as  the  sudden  wasting  away 
which  had  come  to  the  poor  little  body,  a  fretful  intoler- 
ance of  clasping  arms  and  caressing  hands  had  come  to 
the  poor  little  mind.  The  child  cried  when  his  mother 
held  him,  and  only  lay  content  among  the  cushions  of 
state  which  Khojee  brought  out  for  daily  use  recklessly, 
so  that  the  little  Heir's  resting-place  should  be  as  soft  as 
a  King's. 

There  was  nothing,  indeed,  of  such  care  and  comfort 
as  these  women  could  compass,  that  Sa'adut  lacked  ; 
nothing,  in  fact,  of  any  kind  which  even  richer  folk  of 
their  sort  could  have  given  him ;  for  they  too  would  not 
have  had  the  least  elementary  knowledge  of  what  nurs- 

i8o 


A   MOTHER'S  DIRGE  l8l 

ing  could  or  could  not  do  for  such  sickness  as  his. 
Before  that  mysterious  slackening  of  grip  on  life,  these 
women,  the  one  who  watched,  the  one  who  worked,  the 
one  who  whimpered  beside  that  cot  set  in  the  sunshine, 
were  absolutely  helpless.  They  knew  nothing.  They 
could  not  even  tell,  day  by  day,  if  the  child  were  worse 
or  better.  If  he  slept  a  while,  or  drank  a  spoonful  of 
milk,  they  praised  God  ;  and  once  when  they  had  propped 
him  up  with  pillows,  and  set  a  gay  new  cap  jauntily  on 
his  damp  hair,  they  almost  wept  for  joy  to  think  he  was 
better.  And  when  the  consequent  fatigue  made  it  all 
too  evident  that  they  were  mistaken,  they  never  recog- 
nised that  the  change  for  the  worse  was  due  to  the 
sitting-up. 

It  was  after  this  that  Khadjee,  with  floods  of  tears, 
gave  the  only  jewels  she  did  not  wear  to  be  pawned  in 
order  that  a  hakeem  might  be  called  in.  And  then  she 
cried  herself  sick  over  the  loss,  so  that,  when  the  medi- 
cine man  did  come,  he  had  two  patients  instead  of  one. 
He  was  a  smiling  old  pantaloon  who  had  been  court 
physician,  and  as  such  had  attended  Sa'adut's  great- 
grandfather; who  talked  toothlessly  of  the  yjnidni  sys- 
tem of  medicine,  and  of  things  hot  and  things  cold,  of 
things  strong  and  things  weak,  to  Aunt  Khadjee's  great 
delight.  Indeed,  she  took  up  most  of  the  time  in  detail- 
ing her  own  complaints,  so  that,  in  the  end,  he  reassured 
them  hastily  as  to  the  child,  by  saying  that  all  he  needed 
was  a  conserve,  a  mere  conserve !  But  it  proved  to  be 
a  conserve  of  palaces,  containing  thirty-six  ingredients, 
the  cheapest  of  which  was  beaten  silver  leaf  !  So  what 
with  it  and  Auntie  Khadjee's  emulsion,  poor  Khojee's 
housekeeping  purse  was  empty  after  a  few  doses.  But 
she  sat  up  o'  nights  spinning,  and  so  gathered  enough 
to  call  in  another  medicine  man.  This  one  was  of  a 
different  sort;  long-bearded,  solemn,  with  sonorous  Ara- 
bic blessings.  He  had  ordered  paper  pellets  with  the 
attributes  of  the  Almighty  inscribed  on  them. 

These,  at  least,  were  not  expensive;  these,  at  least, 
were  within  the  reach   of   poverty  —  even  the  abject, 


1 82  VO/CLS  /.V   THE  NIGHT 

helpless  poverty  of  these  high-born  ladies.  So  Auntie 
Khadjee,  forsaking  her  tinsel  cap-making,  recalled  the 
teachings  of  her  youth,  and  by  the  aid  of  the  smoke- 
stained  Koran,  from  which  she  chanted  her  portion  Hke 
a  parrot  every  morning,  traced  the  words  on  to  tissue 
paper  with  difficulty  —  she  suffered  from  rheumatic 
gout,  though  she  did  not  know  it  was  anything  but  old 
age  —  and  Khojee  rolled  them  into  pills,  and  covered 
them  with  silver  leaf  and  sugar,  and  put  them  in  the 
sweeties,  which  were  the  only  thing  the  child  cared  for. 
So  he  would  swallow  Mercy,  and  Truth,  and  Charity, 
and  Justice,  and  Strength,  as  he  lay  in  the  sunshine  on 
the  cushions  of  state  playing  with  the  ring  on  which 
was  scratched,  "  By  the  Grace  of  God,  Defender  of  the 
Faith." 

The  courtyard  was  very  quiet,  very  empty,  as  yet,  for 
the  child  was  not  yet  near  enough  to  death  to  be  an  attrac- 
tion to  the  neighbours.  He  had  been  ill  so  long,  and 
now  was  a  little  worse ;  that  was  all  those  three  women 
told  themselves.  They  had  no  means  of  realising  that 
the  disease,  long  sluggish,  had  roused  itself  to  fierce 
energy ;  that  the  days,  almost  the  hours,  were  numbered. 

So  Noormahal  watched  the  child's  least  movement 
day  and  night,  and  Khadjee  wrote  the  attributes  of  God 
for  the  paper  pills,  while  Khojee  worked  her  old  fingers 
sore,  or  tramped  about  openly  to  do  the  marketing. 
But  no  matter  how  pressed  for  time  she  was,  no  matter 
how  far  from  home,  her  old  hands  or  feet  hurried  up, 
so  that  they  should  be  free  for  another  task  at  sunset ; 
a  task  which,  so  long  as  they  had  had  a  servant,  had 
never  been  omitted,  and  must  not  be  omitted  now  — 
must  never  be  omitted  so  long  as  these  crumbling  walls 
and  the  wide  empty  courtyard  held  the  Heir  to  a  King- 
ship. And  this  task  was  the  sounding  of  the  naubnt 
from  the  gateway  where  the  stucco  peacocks  still  spread 
their  plaster  tails. 

In  the  old  days,  this  ceremony  of  sounding  the  royal 
kettledrums  as  a  sign  that  majesty  lived  within,  had 
been  quite  an  imposing  one.     Then,  a  posse  of  Hveried 


A   MOTHER'S  DIRGE  1 83 

servants  and  soldiers  had  gone  up  into  the  naiibat  kJiana, 
and  whacked  away  at  a  whole  row  of  slung  kettledrums, 
and  blared  away  at  the  royal  iiakaraJis,  until  all  the  city 
knew  that  sunset  had  found  the  King  still  on  his  throne. 
But  for  some  years  back  it  had  been  very  different ;  a 
half-hearted  apologetic  drubbing  on  one  dilapidated 
drum,  a  breathless  blowing  of  an  uncertain  horn,  had 
been  all.  And  now,  when  only  one  poor  tired  old 
woman  limped  up  the  broken  stairs,  it  was  a  very  fee- 
ble claim  to  royalty,  indeed,  that  echoed  into  the  court- 
yard below,  though  Khojee  drummed  valiantly  for  all 
she  could  and  blew  her  withered  cheeks  plump  as  a 
cherub's  over  the  nakdraJi.  Feeble  as  it  was,  however, 
it  could  be  heard,  and  it  brought  comfort  even  to  Noor- 
mahal's  hungry  heart;  for  it  meant  that  the  child  was 
still  on  his  throne  at  sunset.  And  that  was  all  the 
world  to  those  lonely  women,  shut  up  inconceivably, 
helplessly,  from  all  hope,  almost  from  all  desire  for  help 
from  that  outside  world,  into  which  only  Aunt  Khojee 
ventured  at  times  timorously ;  and  only  to  return  poorer, 
more  helpless  then  she  went  out. 

Once,  however,  when  —  at  the  risk  of  a  fit  of  hysterics, 
which  might  incapacitate  Aunt  Khadjee  from  even  the 
writing  of  paper  pellets  —  Khojee  had  persuaded  her  to 
allow  the  little  knot  of  silver  earrings  without  which  no 
court  lady  could  be  considered  decently  clothed,  to  pay 
a  temporary  visit  to  the  pawnbroker,  Khojee  had  come 
back  from  that  outside  world  with  a  new  look  of  hope 
on  her  face. 

A  piece  of  luck  had  befallen  her.  She  had  met,  quite 
by  chance,  an  old  servant  of  her  mother's,  who,  when 
the  court  had  been  broken  up,  had  taken  service  as  ayah 
with  the  mems.  And  this  old  dame  happened  to  have 
in  her  possession  a  priceless  European  medicine  for  just 
such  delicate  children  as  Sa'adut. 

A  mem  had  given  it  to  her,  she  said,  when  her  child 
needed  it  no  more.  She  did  not  add  that  the  child, 
despite  the  Brand's  essence  of  beef  and  the  care  of  three 
doctors,  had  wasted  away  into  its  grave  quite  as  quickly 


1 84  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

as  Sa'adut  was  doing  with  neither,  and  that  the  uno- 
pened tins  had  been  part  of  her  perquisites  when  the 
stricken  parents  had  sought  distraction  from  grief  in 
three  months'  leave.  She  only  said  that  they  were 
worth  rupees  on  rupees,  but  that  Khojee  might  have 
them  for  three,  because  it  was  for  the  little  Heir.  So 
the  patient  bent  figure  and  the  limp  had  come  back  to 
that  cot  set  in  the  sunshine,  with  the  feeling  that  now, 
at  last,  the  child  who  lay  among  the  faded  cushions  of 
state  nuist  pick  up  strength,  since  all  the  world  knew 
that  whatever  faults  the  Hiizoors  had,  they  were  clever 
doctors  —  all  too  clever  perhaps  ! 

But  there  could  be  no  danger  of  poison  here.  This 
was  the  actual  medicine  a  vicm  had  given  her  own  child. 
This  must  be  the  real  thing.  Still,  to  make  sure,  they 
continued  the  paper  pellets,  since  Mercy  and  Truth, 
and  Justice  and  Charity  must  counteract  any  nefarious 
intent ! 

Even  with  this  mixed  diet  of  the  East  and  West,  of 
essence  of  faith  and  essence  of  beef,  Sa'adut  gained 
nothing.  He  continued  to  lose,  though  the  women 
refused  to  see  it. 

For  the  courtyard  was  still  quiet.  Perhaps  once  or 
twice  a  day  some  gad-about  neighbour  in  passing  would 
look  in  and  for  half  an  hour  or  so  after  she  had  left, 
Noormahal's  big  brooding  black  eyes  would  be  on  the 
door  of  the  women's  courtyard,  with  a  fierce  fear  in 
them.  The  fear  lest  she  should  see  the  shadow  of  an- 
other new-comer  on  the  angled  brick  screen  before  the 
door ;  the  screen  built  on  purpose  to  show  such  warning 
shadows.  In  other  words,  the  fear  that  those  strange 
eyes  should  have  thought  it  worth  while  to  send  other 
eyes  to  look  on  a  sight  that  would  not  be  long  seen, 
either  in  sunshine  or  shadow. 

But  the  stillness  would  remain  unbroken,  and  her  gaze 
would  go  back  to  Sa'adut,  ready  for  her  to  smile  assent 
when  he  should  smile  up  at  her  and  say,  "  Look  !  Amma- 
Jdn,'"  because  he  had  managed  to  jam  the  ring  hard  and 
fast  over  some  combination  of  fingers. 


A   MOTHER'S  DIRGE  185 

The  days  and  nights  were  cloudless,  the  air  kindly 
and  warm,  and  in  the  silence  which  comes  with  the 
darkness  —  even  to  a  large  town  when  there  is  no 
wheeled  traffic  in  it,  and  the  footsteps  of  men  have 
ceased  from  going  up  and  down  the  city  —  the  only 
sound  which  came  to  disturb  the  courtyard  was  the 
shriek  of  the  railway  whistle.  An  almost  incredible 
sound  in  that  environment. 

So  the  days  and  nights  following  on  Jehan's  vow 
never  to  set  foot  in  the  house  again,  dragged  by. 

"Were  it  not  best  to  tell  his  father.?"  suggested  Kh6- 
jee,  the  peace-maker,  one  evening  when  she  came  down 
breathless  from  that  futile  beating  of  kettledrums  and 
blowing  of  horns,  to  find  Sa'adut  without  his  usual  smile 
for  her  efforts.  "  He  is  fond  of  his  father,  and  it  might 
rouse  him." 

Noormahal  leant  forward,  and  gripped  the  cot  with 
both  hands.  "No!"  she  said  passionately.  "May  I 
not  keep  this  myself  ?  He  is  no  worse,  fool !  Thou 
didst  not  sound  the  nanbat  well,  that  is  all.  I  could 
scarce  hear  it  myself." 

That  might  well  be.  Aunt  Khojee  thought  humbly, 
seeing  that  she  was  not  used  to  the  beating  of  drums 
and  the  blowing  of  horns,  and  that  both  were  cracked 
and  dilapidated  almost  past  beating  and  blowing. 
Still,  even  she  would  not  allow  the  child  to  be  worse, 
not  even  in  the  watches  of  the  night,  when  a  body's 
thoughts  cannot  always  stay  themselves  on  the  will  of 
God,  when  railway  whistles  and  other  strange  sounds 
set  the  mind  questioning  what  will  come,  and  why  it 
should  come. 

And  this  night,  just  at  the  turn  of  twelve,  when  the 
night  of  a  past  day  turns  into  the  night  of  a  coming  one, 
a  voice  rose  on  the  darkness  as  it  sometimes  did ;  the 
voice  of  a  telegraph  peo7i  seeking  an  unknown  owner 
for  a  telegram. 

"  O  Addum !  O  Addum  Khan !  dweller  in  the  Place 
of  Sojourners  in  the  quarter  of  Palaces !  Awake ! 
Arise !      O   Addum  !    a  messagf-e   hath   come  for  thee. 


1 86  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

Awake  !  Arise  !  O  Sleepers  !  awake  and  say  where  is 
Addum  Khan  for  whom  a  message  to  go  on  a  journey 
hath  come." 

So,  on  and  on  insistently,  the  man  Addum  —  quaintly 
namesake  of  the  man  in  whose  name  all  men  go  on  the 
great  journey  —  was  sought;  until  the  rattle  of  a  door- 
chain  being  unhasped  brought  silence,  and  the  know- 
ledge that  Addum  had  received  his  message  from  the 
darkness. 

'^  La  ilia  ha  —  il  Ullaho —  bisin-illdJi-nr-raJiindn-ur- 
raheem,"  murmured  Khojee  under  her  breath  as  she 
sat  by  the  cot  trimming  the  smoky  little  rushlight. 
For  the  cry  on  Addum  had  roused  Sa'adut  from  a 
half-doze  and  brought  opportunity  for  more  paper 
pellets. 

''  BismillaJi-iir-rahmaii-Jir-raJieem^'  he  echoed  in  his 
cracked  little  voice  quite  cheerfully ;  for  these  words, 
the  assertion  that  God  is  a  merciful  and  a  clement  God, 
are  the  Mohammedan  grace  before  meat  as  well  as 
a  prayer,  and  the  four  years,  four  months,  and  four 
days,  at  which  age  children  are  taught  them  as  their 
initiation  into  the  Church,  were  still  close  enough  to 
Sa'adut's  sum  total  of  life,  to  give  the  repetition  a  pleas- 
urable importance. 

"  Heart  of  my  heart !  Eye  of  my  eye  !  Life  of  my 
life  !  "  murmured  old  Khojee  again.  "  Lo  !  swallow  it 
down,  my  uttermost  beloved,  and  sleep." 

She  had  the  child  to  herself  for  the  moment,  since 
Noormahal  at  her  earnest  entreaty  had  hidden  her  face 
altogether  in  her  veil,  and,  with  her  head  on  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  had  gone  off  into  a  brief  slumber  of  exhaustion. 
So  the  old  arms  and  the  old  lips  could  show  all  the 
tenderness  of  the  old  heart,  which  for  nearly  seventy 
years  had  beat  true  to  every  womanly  sympathy  within 
those  four  prisoning  walls. 

By  the  light  of  the  rushlight  Sa'adut's  big  black  eyes 
showed  bright  from  the  cushions  of  state.  So  did  the 
emerald  in  the  ring. 

"  Why  didst  not  sound  the  naiibat  to-day,  lazy  one  }  " 


A   MOTHER'S  DIRGE  1 8/ 

he  said  suddenly,  as  if  the  omission  had  just  struck  him. 
"  Go  !  sound  it  now  —  dost  hear  ?     Sa'adut  wants  it." 

He  had  not  spoken  so  clearly  for  days,  and  Khojee's 
smile  came  swift. 

"  Nay,  sonling,  it  was  sounded,"  she  answered  caress- 
ingly. "  Thou  didst  sleep,  perchance.  Sleep  again. 
Comfort  of  my  heart!     It  will  come,  as  ever,  at  sunset." 

"  But  Sa'adut  wants  it  now !  —  he  will  have  it !  he 
will  be  asleep  at  sunset.  Sound  it  now  !  Sound  it  now, 
I  tell  thee,  thou  ugly  one.  Sound  the  King's  naubat 
for  Sa'adut." 

The  old  vehemence,  the  old  imperious  whimper  brought 
delight  and  dismay  in  a  breath  to  the  listener. 

"  Yea,  yea,  sweetest !  "  she  began  breathlessly  as  the 
old  signs  of  tears  showed  themselves  —  "  have  patience, 
pretty.    Old  Khojee  will  surely  obey  —  no  tears,  darling 

—  she  will  sound  the  naubat  even  now." 

She  glanced  round  in  her  consolations  hurriedly. 
Noormahal  still  slept  at  the  bed's  foot.     Khadjee's  snores 

—  she  had  wept  herself  into  the  physical  discomfort  of 
a  cold  in  the  head  —  rose  regularly  from  an  archway. 
All  else  was  silence.  Every  one  slept !  Even  the  city  ! 
Yes  !  she  would  risk  it  —  risk  disturbing  the  neighbours 

—  risk  unknown  penalties  from  the  breach  of  unknown 
by-laws.     The  child  must  be  saved  from  tears. 

So,  hastily,  she  caught  up  the  rushlight,  and  leaving 
the  courtyard  to  the  moonlight,  stumbled,  fast  as  her 
limp  would  let  her,  up  the  narrow  stairs  to  the  7iaubat 
khana.  The  rats  scuttled  from  it  as  she  picked  her  way 
through  the  fallen  kettledrums  that  had  once  swung  from 
the  roof,  brave  in  tassels  and  tinsels ;  that  were  now 
cracked,  mouldering,  the  parchment  rent  and  gnawed. 
One  still  hung  dejectedly  at  the  further  end,  and  towards 
it  she  passed  rapidly.  Even  on  it,  however,  a  rat,  driven 
to  extremities  in  that  hungry  house,  had  been  attempting 
to  dine ;  its  eyes  showed  like  specks  of  light  as  it  ran  a 
little  way  up  the  tarnished  tinsel  rope  on  which  the  drum 
swung,  and  awaited  her  oncoming. 

Now  Aunt  Khojee,  like  many  another  woman   East 


1 88  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

and  West,  was  desperately  afraid  of  rats  ;  yet  the  nanhat 
had  to  be  sounded.  She  shut  her  eyes  to  give  her  greater 
courage,  and  put  all  her  little  strength  into  her  blow. 

It  was  too  much  for  the  rotten  rope.  The  kettledrum 
clashed  to  the  ground  with  hollow  reverberations  worthy 
of  the  old  days,  and  the  old  woman's  frightened  cry  did 
duty  as  the  jiakdraJi. 

But  behind  both  sounds  came  a  child's  laugh,  an  elfin, 
uncanny  laugh  ;  and,  as  she  paused  —  in  her  flight  down- 
wards—  at  the  stair-head,  she  saw  in  the  moonlight 
below  an  elfin,  uncanny  figure  sitting  bolt  upright 
among  the  cushions  of  state,  clapping  the  little  hands 
that  held  the  glistening  signet  of  royalty,  and  chuck- 
ling to  itself  gleefully,  while  Noormahal,  roused,  yet 
still  bewildered,  looked  about  her  for  the  cause,  and 
Aunt  Khadjee  from  the  archway  gave  pitiful  shrieks  of 
alarm. 

"The  nanbat !  the  King's  naubat !  My  nanbat ! 
Sa'adut's  nanbat!'' 

The  cracked,  hoarse,  little  voice  went  on  and  on  till  it 
became  breathless,  and  after  it  ceased,  the  sparkle  of 
the  ring  still  showed  in  the  little  applauding  hands. 

"What  is't.-*  —  what  didst  do.!""  asked  Noormahal 
reproachfully.  "  Thou  hast  made  him  in  a  sweat.  Lo  ! 
heart's  delight,  let  me  wipe  thy  forehead  —  'tis  only 
Anima-jdn  —  thy  Amvia,''  she  added  coaxingly.  But 
there  was  no  need  for  that.  Sa'adut  lay  cuddled  up  on 
his  pillows,  smiling,  complaisant,  both  hands  clasped 
over  his  ring. 

"  Sa'adut's  ring,"  he  whispered  as  if  it  were  a  great 
joke,  a  splendid  childish  secret  that  was  his  to  keep  or 
tell,  "and  Sa'adut's  naiibat.  His  own.  He  will  keep 
them  himself." 

"Lo!  bibi,''  faltered  old  Khojee  apologetically  —  "it 
will  do  him  no  harm.  Sec  !  it  was  of  himself  he  rose, 
and  now  he  would  sleep.  He  is  better,  not  worse. 
BismillaJi  !  " 

"  Ur-rahmdn-M'-rahceni^'  came  drowsily  from  the 
child's  lips,  finishing  th:U  new-taught  grace,  asserting 


A   MOTHER'S  DIRGE  1 89 

that  new-found  dignity.  So,  with  that  look  of  possession 
on  his  face,  he  fell  asleep  again. 

He  was  still  sleeping  when,  an  hour  or  two  after 
dawn,  the  tailor's  wife  from  over  the  alley  came  in  on 
her  way  bazaarwards,  to  see  how  the  child  had  fared 
through  the  night,  and  ask  what  the  noise  might  have 
been  which  had  awakened  her  house.  Had  more  of  the 
old  palace  fallen  .-• 

Khojee,  who  was  already  spinning  for  dear  life,  set 
the  question  by.  A  great  fear  was  in  her  old  heart, 
because  of  the  evil  portent  of  the  falling  drum  ;  but  none 
because  of  the  truth,  writ  clear  on  that  sleeping  figure, 
that  it  would  never  wake  again. 

So  Khadjee  was  still  writing  out  the  attributes  of  God, 
and  Noormahal  scraping  out  another  dose  of  the  wonder- 
ful western  medicine  from  the  bottom  of  a  tin  of  Brand's 
essence  against  the  wakening  that  would  never  come. 

"  He  is  more  like  his  grandfather  than  his  father," 
remarked  the  tailor's  wife  as  she  looked  at  the  child. 
"  If  he  had  been  King,  he  would  have  been  better  than 
Jehan." 

She  made  the  assertion  calmly,  and  though  Aunt 
Khojee  looked  up,  doubtful  of  its  ambiguity,  no  one 
denied  or  contradicted  it.  So  the  tailor's  wife  passed 
out  of  these  four  walls,  leaving  them  empty  of  all  things 
strange. 

For  the  very  shadows  they  threw  were  familiar.  All 
her  life  long,  Noormahal's  big  black  eyes  had  watched 
the  purple  one  of  the  eastern  wall  lessen  and  lessen 
before  the  rising  of  the  sun,  and  the  purple  one  of 
the  western  wall  grow  behind  the  setting  of  the  sun. 
Only  on  the  angled  screen  at  the  door  the  shadows  were 
sometimes  new ;  these  shadows  of  some  one  coming 
from  outside. 

There  was  one  on  it  now  ;  clear,  unmistakable.  No  ! 
not  one  ;  there  were  two  !  The  shadows  of  two  strange 
women  muffled  in  their  veils,  coming  in  as  if  they  had 
the  right  to  enter. 

A  quick  terror  flew  to  Noormahal's  eyes  at  the  sight ! 


190  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

The  tailor's  wife  had  not  been  long  in  spreading  her 
news. 

In  an  instant  Noormahal  was  on  her  feet  fighting  the 
air  wildly  with  her  hands. 

"  It  is  not  true  !  "  she  cried  passionately  ;  "  it  is  not 
true  !  "  And  then  the  mockery  of  her  own  denial,  the 
certainty  that  it  was  so,  came  to  her  even  without  a  look 
at  the  child,  and  her  voice  rose  piercingly  in  the  mother's 
dirge  — 

"  O  child  !  who  taught  thee  to  deceive  ? 
O  child  !  who  taught  thee  thus  to  leave  ? " 

Old  Khojee  was  at  her  side  in  a  second,  beating  down 
her  hands.  "Not  yet!  Not  yet!  Noormahal!  Oh! 
wait  a  while.  It  cannot  be  yet !  He  sleeps  —  he  is  not 
dead." 

True,  he  slept  still,  cuddled  into  the  cushions  of 
state.  But  the  look  of  possession  had  gone  from  the 
childish  face,  though  the  signet  of  royalty  had  found  its 
proper  place ;  for  it  hung  loose  on  the  forefinger  of  his 
right  hand. 

"  Some  one  must  call  his  father,"  whimpered  Kha- 
deeja  Khanum  ;  even  amid  the  tempest  of  grief  she  was 
mindful,  as  ever,  of  etiquette.  '"He  must  be  here  to 
receive  the  last  breath." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  when  Jehan  returned  with 
Lateefa  from  cantonments  to  the  evil-smelling  court- 
yard in  which  his  bachelor  quarters  jostled  Dilaram's 
balcony,  he  found  the  call  awaiting  him.  It  had  come 
two  hours  before,  the  messenger  said,  so  it  might  be  too 
late.     But  it  was  not. 

Jehan  entering,  found  the  courtyard  half  full  of 
women.  The  sun  was  pouring  down  into  it,  showing 
the  stolid  yet  watchful  faces  of  the  circle  of  those  — 
unveiled  by  reason  of  their  lower  rank  —  who  were 
gathered  round  the  bed  set  in  the  centre.  Khojee  and 
Khadjee  —  the  former  with  the  tears  chasing  each  other 
down  her  cheeks  forlornly  as  she  shaded  the  child  with 
the  royal  fan  and  said  ''Ameen  "  to  the  old  mullah  who 


A   MOTHER'S  DIRGE  I9I 

was  chanting  the  death  chapter  of  the  Koran,  the 
latter  with  unreserved  sobbings  —  crouched  at  the 
head. 

But  Noormahal  neither  sobbed  nor  said  ''Ameen." 
Half  on  the  ground,  half  on  the  low  bed,  she  lay  still, 
her  face  hidden  about  the  child's  feet. 

She  did  not  stir  even  when  Jehan's  voice  rose  in 
unrestrained  —  and  for  the  time  being  sincere — lamen- 
tation, in  piteous  upbraidings  of  all  and  everything. 
Why  had  he  not  been  told  '^.  Why  had  he  not  been 
sent  for  sooner  .^ 

Lateefa,  who  had  entered  with  him,  gave  a  quick 
look  of  absolute  dislike  and  contempt  at  his  principal. 
"  Best  thank  God  they  sent  for  thee  at  all,"  he  muttered 
as  he  passed  to  the  head  of  the  cot.  He  had  jibed  and 
laughed  at  the  tragedy  till  then,  treating  it  —  as  he 
treated  his  kites — as  a  mere  nothingness.  But  this  — 
above  all,  old  Khojee's  forlorn  face  —  struck  home. 

"  Best  thank  God  they  let  thee  be  in  time  to  claim 
thy  son,"  he  muttered  again,  adding,  as  he  bent  his  keen 
face  closer  to  the  child's,  "  and  thou  art  but  just  in 
time !  " 

But  just  in  time!  Even  as  he  spoke  one  of  the 
stolid  watching  women  nodded  and  looked  at  her 
neighbour  interrogatively.  The  neighbour  looked  at 
the  face  on  the  cushions,  and  nodded  also. 

So,  as  if  by  common  consent,  the  first  faint  whimper 
which  heralds  the  true  wailing  began. 

Khojee  paused  in  an  ^^Aiiiee?i"  with  a  gasp,  Khadjee 
let  her  sobs  grow  into  a  cry. 

But  Noormahal  neither  stirred,  nor  uttered  sound. 
Only  as  she  lay  over  the  child's  feet  a  little  shiver  ran 
through  her  limbs  as  if  she,  too,  were  passing  from  the 
cold  world. 

An  hour  afterwards  she  was  still  lying  so,  face  down- 
wards, unregarding,  though  they  had  moved  her  to  the 
bed  where  Khadeeja  Khanum  had  spent  so  many  hours 
in  making  tinsel  caps. 

One  of  them,  which  she  had  made  for  Sa'adut's  four 


192  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

years,  four  months,  and  four  days'  reception  into  the 
church  of  the  Clement  and  Merciful,  was  on  the  child's 
head  now ;  for  the  tenders  of  the  dead  had  prepared 
him  for  his  burial. 

Khojee  had  brought  out  the  few  treasures  of  faded 
brocade  the  ruined  palace  still  held,  to  fold  about  him 
softly,  and  with  a  sob  which  seemed  to  rend  her  heart, 
had  bidden  the  signet  of  royalty  be  left  on  the  little 
Heir's  forefinger  against  the  time  when  his  mother 
should  rouse  herself  to  take  her  last  look  at  him. 

The  wailers  had  departed  to  return  later  on.  Khadjee 
had  succumbed  to  sorrow,  and  sought  seclusion.  Even 
Jehan  had  gone ;  the  last  to  go,  save  Lateefa,  who 
lingered  half-indifferent,  half-compassionate,  impatient 
of  poor  Khojee's  tears  over  a  loss  that  had  been  inevi- 
table for  months,  yet  not  liking  to  leave  them  to  be  shed 
in  absolute  solitude. 

"  Thou  art  kind,  Lateef,"  she  said  at  last.  "  'Tis 
woman's  work,  not  man's:  yet  without  thee,  brother — " 
Her  soft  old  eyes  met  his,  and  the  tears  in  them  seemed 
to  find  their  way  into  his  heart  and  melt  it. 

"Thou  art  welcome,  sister,"  he  said  gravely.  "I 
think  all  is  as  it  should  be  now  —  I  see  naught  amiss." 

His  eyes,  as  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  whereon 
the  dead  child  lay,  travelled  approvingly  upwards,  and 
Khojee's  followed  suit.  But  hers  went  no  further  than 
the  little  waxen  hands  resting  so  straightly,  so  de- 
murely on  the  brocade ;  for  the  lack  of  something  on 
them  made  her  start  forward  incredulously,  search  in 
wild  haste  in  the  folds  beneath  the  still  fingers,  and 
then  fall  with  a  cry  at  Lateefa's  feet,  clasping  them, 
kissing  them. 

"  Give  it  back  —  it  was  there  but  now  !  If  thou  hast 
it  —  if  he  bade  thee  take  it  —  give  it  back  !  " 

He  stood  looking  down  at  her  with  a  curious  expres- 
sion of  shame  on  his  face.  "It,"  he  echoed.  "What 
is  it.?" 

"Thou  knowest,"  she  pled  piteously.  "  The  ring  — 
she  will  die  if  it  is  not  there.     She  cannot  lose  both, 


A  MOTHER'S  DIRGE  1 93 

she  cannot  lose  all.  Give  it  back  for  these  first  days  — 
give  it  for  comfort,  if  for  naught  else,  or  she  will  die. 

0  Lateef!  do  this  for  old  Khojee  —  ugly  Khojee  !     Lo  ! 

1  have  asked  naught  of  men,  nor  husband,  nor  child ; 
for  I  had  naught  to  give.  Yet  I  ask  this  —  have  pity  — 
brother !  " 

He  stooped  to  unclasp  her  hands  with  an  almost 
tender  look. 

"  Thy  Hke  has  more  to  give  mine  than  thou  dost 
think,  sister,"  he  said;  "God  knows  even  Lateef — " 
He  broke  off  with  a  half-impatient  gesture.  "  But  this 
is  past  hoping  for.  If  Jehan  wishes  — "  He  paused 
again,  and  shook  his  head.  "Tell  her  thou  hast  put  it 
by  for  safety  —  she  will  be  too  full  of  grief  to  prove  thy 
words  —  that  will  give  time,  see  you  —  " 

Khojee,  still  on  her  knees,  looked  up  doubtfully. 
"Time,"  she  echoed,  and  then  her  face  lit  up  with 
hope.  "  Time  —  then  thou  wilt  try  !  thou  wilt  speak  to 
Jehan !  thou  wilt  bring  it  back  if  thou  canst !  Yea,  I 
will  tell  her  —  I  will  tell  the  lie  if  thou  wilt  promise. 
Lateef!  this  much  thou  wili  do,  promise  to  try.  On 
the  Koran,  on  thy  head,  thou  wilt  swear,  if  thou  canst 
do  this  thing  —  "  Her  old  lips  were  on  his  feet,  kissing 
them  passionately,  and  he  gave  an  uneasy,  almost  bitter 
laugh. 

"Not  on  the  Koran,  sister,"  he  said  evasively,  "nor 
on  my  head.  Those  be  God's  work.  Lateef  had  naught 
to  do  with  the  making  of  either.  He  hath  no  hold  on 
them,  or  their  vagaries,  and  I  swear  by  naught  that  is 
not  sure." 

"Then  swear  by  what  thou  likest,"  she  put  in  swiftly. 
"  Lo !  it  is  not  much  I  ask  —  not  even  that  thou  wilt 
bring  it  back,  but  that  thou  wilt  try  —  for  me  who  can- 
not try,  for  helpless  Khojee  shut  in  these  four  walls. 
Promise,  Lateef,  that  if  thou  kast  the  chance  —  nay  ! 
I  Vv^ill  not  let  thee  go  till  thou  dost  promise." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  he  laughed  —  his  own 
contemptuous,  musical  laugh.  "  If  the  chance  comes  ! 
Yea !     I  will  promise  that-     On  my  kites  I    promise, 


194  VOICES  LV   THE  NIGHT 

since  they  be  my  creatures  to  fly  or  fail  as  I  choose. 
Let  be,  good  Khojee.  If  I  am  to  do  aught,  thou  must 
let  me  go." 

She  rose  reluctantly.  "  On  thy  kites,  Lateef  .''  That 
is  a  light  oath."     She  spoke  in  vague  wonder. 

"  Heavy  for  me,  sister,"  he  replied  gaily,  "  since  they 
be  all  Lateef  has  for  children  —  all  of  his  own  fashion- 
ing to  leave  behind  him  when  he  dies !  " 

So,  with  a  nod  towards  the  dead  child,  he  passed  out 
of  the  courtyard  where  the  shadows  were  lengthening 
for  sunset. 

But  there  would  be  no  naubat  to  sound  that  evening, 
so  Khojee  crouched  down  between  the  two  beds  where 
the  mother  and  the  child  lay  both  silent,  both  unheeding, 
and  covering  her  face  with  her  veil,  thought  how  best 
to  tell  the  lie  when  Noormahal  should  rouse  to  ask  the 
question. 


CHAPTER   XIII 


A    VALSE    A    DEUX    TEMPS 


"  What  am  I  ?  Why,  a  mutiny  lady,  of  course.  Don't 
you  see  my  crinoline ;  I  suppose  I  am  the  first  to  arrive, 
but  there  are  a  lot  of  us  coming  in  the  dress.  We  are 
going  to  have  a  sixteen  mutiny  Lancers ;  perhaps  two, 
and  all  sorts  of  fun.     Rather  a  jolly  idea,  isn't  it.-* " 

The  speaker  was  Mrs.  Chris  Davenant  as  she  stood 
buttoning  her  white  gloves  in  the  anteroom  of  the  club 
which  was  all  decorated  and  illuminated  for  the  Service 
ball.  She  was  daintiness  itself  in  a  widespread  pink 
tarlatane  frilled  to  the  very  waist.  A  wreath  of  full- 
blown pink  roses  headed  the  fall  of  white  lace  that  lay 
low  down  on  the  white  sloping  shoulders,  which  seemed  as 
if,  at  the  least  movement,  they  would  slip  up  from  their 
nest  of  flowers  to  meet  the  fair  shining  hair  that  slipped 
downwards  in  a  loose  coil  from  the  wreath  of  pink  roses 
round  her  head. 

The  steward  who  had  been  told  off  to  record  the 
costumes,  and  see  that  no  one  evaded  the  rule  of  fancy 
dress  without  permission,  raised  his  eyebrows  slightly 
as  he  bowed. 

"And  admirably  carried  out  in  your  case,"  he  replied 
politely,  ere  turning  to  Chris,  who  stood  beside  the  pink 
tarlatane  in  the  garments  of  civilisation  which  had  been 
rescued  from  Sri  Hunuman.  He  was  looking,  for  him, 
moody,  ill-humoured. 

"  And  you,  I  suppose,  have  permission,"  began  the 
steward,  when  Mrs.  Chris  with  a  hasty  look  —  half  of 
appeal  —  at  her  husband,  interrupted  gaily  — 

"Oh,  he  is  mutiny  too.  The  fashion  in  dress-clothes 
has  not  changed." 

195 


196  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Chris  in  a  loud  voice.  "  I  come 
as  an  English  gentleman  of  the  nineteenth  century.  It 
is  fancy  dress  for  me,  sir.     Are  you  ready,  Viva.-'" 

The  white  shoulders  did  slip  from  the  lace  and  the 
roses  with  the  half-petulant,  half-tolerant  shrug  they 
gave,  and  which  expressed,  as  plain  as  words  could 
have  done,  the  owner's  mental  position.  If  Chris  chose 
to  take  that  line  and  make  a  fool  of  himself,  it  did  not 
concern  her.     She  meant  to  enjoy  herself. 

"  Execrable  taste  ! "  remarked  the  steward  at  the  other 
door  whose  business  was  with  the  ball  programmes. 

"  Which  .''  "  asked  his  neighbour  pointedly. 

"Oh,  both.  But  the  mutiny  idea  is  the  worst.  Who 
the  deuce  started  it  ?  " 

"  Lucanaster's  lot,  I  believe.  We  couldn't  exactly 
stop  it,  if  they  chose." 

"  Well,  I  hope  to  goodness  Filthy  Lucre  won't  come 
as  John  Ellison,  or  I  shall  feel  it  my  duty  to  knock  him 
down." 

"  Oh,  we  barred  that  sort  of  thing,  of  course.  And  it 
is  really  rather  a  jolly  dress"  —  the  speaker  gave  a 
glance  after  the  pink  tarlatane  —  "at  least,  she  looks 
ripping  in  it." 

She  certainly  looked  her  best ;  and  had  caught  the 
sweetly  feminine  suggestion  of  the  style  better  than  any 
other  of  the  score  or  so  of  women  belonging  to  the 
smart  set,  who,  by  degrees,  came  to  make  up  the  mutiny 
Lancers.  A  fact  w^hich  the  men  belonging  to  it  were 
not  slow  to  recognise,  so  that  a  group  of  stiff-stocked 
uniforms  soon  gathered  round  her,  Vv^hile  Mr.  Lucanas- 
ter  —  who  looked  his  best,  also,  in  the  gorgeous  array 
which  Hodson  of  Hodson's  Horse  in  the  middle  of  all 
the  strain  and  stress  of  the  mutiny,  evolved  from  his 
inner  consciousness  for  his  "Ring-tailed  Roarers"  — 
could  not  take  his  eyes  off  her  gleaming  pink  and  white. 
He  even  risked  the  resentment  of  more  important  ladies 
by  rearranging  the  whole  set  so  as  to  secure  her  being 
next  to  him  in  it. 

But  that  gleam  of  pink  and  white  was  responsible  for 


A    VALSE  A   DEUX   TEMPS  1 97 

more  than  the  setting  of  Mr.  Lucanaster's  blood  on  fire. 
It  made  Chris,  for  the  first  time,  fiercely  jealous.  Ever 
since  he  had  allowed  himself,  for  that  minute  on  the 
bridge,  to  compare  his  wife  with  his  ideal,  and  his  ideal 
with  the  little  cousin  whose  familiar  beauty  had  so  dis- 
turbed him,  he  had  been  far  more  exigent  as  a  husband 
than  he  had  ever  been  before.  And  now,  as  he  watched 
his  wife's  success,  it  was  with  clouded  eyes  that  followed 
her  wherever  she  went;  even  when,  just  before  supper 
—  the  night  being  marvellously  warm  for  the  time  of 
year  —  some  one's  suggestion  that  it  would  be  infinitely 
jollier  to  have  the  mutiny  Lancers  outside  in  the  gardens, 
sent  the  whole  party  of  dancing  feet  trooping  out,  amid 
laughter  and  chatter,  to  the  lawns  and  flower-beds  which 
forty  years  ago  had  lain  bare  and  bloodstained  under  the 
weary  feet  of  those  defenders  of  the  flag. 

The  verdict  of  execrable  taste  given  by  the  steward 
had  been  endorsed  by  many ;  by  none  more  fully  than 
by  the  Government  House  party  which  had  come  over 
late.  But  even  Lesley  felt  bound  to  admit  that,  taste  or 
no  taste,  there  was  a  certain  uncanniness  in  the  look  of 
these  men  and  women  who  might  indeed  be  ghosts  from 
that  gay  Nushapore  life  of  forty  years  back. 

So,  many  a  one  might  have  been  dressed,  so  they 
might  have  danced,  and  flirted,  and  chattered,  on  the 
very  night  when  John  Ellison  ended  that  gay  life  and 
called  them  to  death,  with  a  brief  order  to  close  in  on 
the  Garden  Mound  and  defend  the  flag  that  floated  from 
its  central  tower.  And  Grace,  more  imaginative,  more 
fanciful  than  Lesley,  found  her  thoughts  wandering 
more  than  once  in  a  wonder  whether  some  call  to  show 
themselves  worthy  of  that  past  might  not  come  again, 
come  there  in  the  midst  of  the  lights  and  the  laughter. 
There  is  always  an  atmosphere  of  unreality  in  a  fancy 
dress  ball  when  the  masqueraders  mean  to  enjoy  them- 
selves ;  but  it  was  more  marked  that  night  than  Grace 
Arbuthnot  had  ever  seen  it. 

There  was  a  fascination  in  it  —  in  the  uncertainty 
of  it. 


198  VOICES  IX   THE  NIGHT 

But  there  was  one  small  soul  for  whom  the  sight  had 
fascination,  not  from  its  unreality,  but  its  reality.  This 
was  Jerry,  who  in  consequence  of  a  special  invitation 
from  the  ball  committee  of  which  Jack  Raymond  was 
secretary,  that  the  little  lad  might  be  allowed  to  see  the 
show  till  supper-time,  had  been  brought  over  for  an  hour 
or  two. 

"  He  isn't  weally  Hodson  of  Hodson's  Horse,  is  he, 
mum.''"  he  said,  squeezing  his  mother's  hand  tight,  as, 
in  his  little  Eton  suit,  his  wide  white  collar  seeming  to 
stare  like  his  wide  grey  eyes,  he  watched  the  couples 
passing  out  into  the  garden,  "  cos  lie  was  bigger.  It's 
only  pwetence,  weally,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  it  is  pretence,  Jerry,"  she  answered  almost 
carelessly  ;  then  something  in  the  child's  expression  made 
her  stoop  to  smooth  his  hair,  and  look  in  his  freckled  face 
with  a  smile.  "You  would  like  to  go  and  see  them  in 
the  garden,  wouldn't  you  .-•  Well,  wait  a  bit,  and  Lesley, 
when  she  comes  back  from  her  dance,  shall  take  you, 
and  then  you  must  be  off  to  bed.     It  is  getting  late." 

"  Let  me  take  him,  Lady  Arbuthnot,"  said  Jack  Ray- 
mond's voice.  "  I  am  engaged  to  Miss  Drummond  for 
these  Lancers,  and  I  am  sure  she  would  prefer  not  to 
dance  them  with  me,  even  if  she  hasn't  forgotten  the 
fact." 

He  had  come  up  behind  her  from  the  supper-room 
where  he  had  been  busy,  and  Grace,  who  had  not  seen 
him  before  that  evening,  felt  a  sudden  pang  at  the  sight 
of  him.  For  he  was  dressed  in  the  political  uniform 
which,  except  on  such  frivolous  occasions  as  these,  had 
not  seen  the  light  for  ten  years.  She  told  herself  that 
he  looked  well  in  it,  as  he  had  always  done ;  and  then 
the  reminiscence  annoyed  her,  for  she  had  been  taking 
herself  to  task  somewhat  for  the  persistency  of  such 
recollections. 

"Thanks  so  much,"  she  replied.  "I  can  see  her 
coming  back  now,  so  you  can  combine  the  two.  That 
will  do  nicely." 

It  would,  in  fact,  fit  in  very  nicely  with  her  plans ;  for 


A    VALSE  A   DEUX    TEMPS  1 99 

in  consequence  of  that  taking  to  task  she  //^?^/been  mak- 
ing plans,  as  women  of  her  sort  do  when  they  feel  an 
interest  in  a  man  which  they  cannot  classify.  And 
Grace  Arbuthnot  could  not  classify  hers  for  Jack  Ray- 
mond ;  though  she  went  so  far  as  to  acknowledge  that 
she  could  not,  even  now,  treat  him  as  she  treated  all 
other  men  with  the  exception  of  her  husband. 

He  made  her  feel  moody  and  restless.  This  was 
intolerable,  even  though  the  cause  was,  clearly,  nothing 
more  than  a  regret  at  his  wasted  life.  It  could,  indeed, 
be  nothing  else.  Had  she  not  at  the  very  beginning 
sought  him  out  solely  in  the  hope  of  rousing  him  to 
better  things }  He  had  repulsed  her  by  saying  that 
hers  was  not  the  hand  to  win  his  back  to  the  plough ; 
and  she  had  resented  this  at  first  —  had  refused  to 
believe  that  the  past  could  interfere  with  the  present. 
But  she  had  been  reasoning  the  matter  out  with  herself 
during  the  last  few  days.  There  had  been  many  links 
and  also  many  lacnnce  in  the  chain  of  that  reasoning ; 
yet  she  had  been  quite  satisfied  with  the  result  of  it, 
namely,  —  a  conviction  that  Lesley  Drummond  would  be 
the  very  person  to  compass  regeneration !  For  women 
like  Grace  Arbuthnot  are  never  more  inconsequent  than 
they  are  in  regard  to  Love  with  a  big  L ;  since  in  one 
breath  they  call  it  Heaven-sent,  and  the  next  set 
springes  to  catch  it  as  if  it  were  a  woodcock  or  a  hedge- 
sparrow  ! 

Having  arrived  at  this  conviction  with  a  curious 
mixture  of  shrewdness  and  sentiment,  Grace  had  gone 
on  to  be  practical.  She  herself  was  debarred  by  her 
position  from  any  more  becoming  dress  than  the  latest 
Paris  fashion,  but  that  was  no  reason  why  Lesley  should 
not  have  the  advantage  of  clever  wits  and  clever  fingers. 
For  the  girl  herself  was  of  that  large  modern  type  which, 
without  in  the  least  despising  dress,  being,  in  fact,  curi- 
ously sensitive  to  its  charm,  are  personally  quite  helpless 
concerning  it. 

The  result  of  this  being,  that  as  Lesley  approached, 
Jack  Raymond  stared  at  the  transformation,  took  in  its 


200  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

details,  and  finally  gave  in  to  the  perfection  of  the  dress 
by  saying,  with  a  laugh  — 

"  God  prosper  thee,  my  Lady  Greensleeves  !  " 
"  My  Lady  Greensleeves  !  "  echoed  Lesley.     "  Yes,  of 
course  it  is !     How  stupid  of  me.  Lady  Arbuthnot,  not 
to  have  guessed  before.     Oh!    Lm  sorry;  I  promised 
not  to  tell  who  made  my  dress,  didn't  I .''  " 

The  cat  was  out  of  the  bag,  and  Grace  flushed  up  with 
vexation.  She  had  not  thought  any  one  would  recognise 
the  source  whence  she  had  taken  Lesley's  "  smock  o' 
silk  "  and  "  gowr\  of  grassy  green,"  her  "  pearl  and  gold 
girdle"  and  "gay  gilt  knives,"  "the  crimson  stockings 
all  o'  silk,"  and  "  pumps  as  white  as  was  the  milk." 
She  had  not  even  told  the  girl  herself,  partly  from  the 
love  of  such  fanciful  little  mysteries  which  is  inherent 
in  such  as  she ;  partly  because  she  feared  to  injure  the 
unconscious  indifference  which  made  Lesley  look  the 
character  to  perfection. 

"  Greensleeves  was  my  heart  of  gold, 
And  yet  she  would  not  love  me." 

And  now  Jack  Raymond,  of  all  people,  had  found  her 
out ;  found  her  out  altogether  !  She  could  see  that  in 
his  eyes,  hear  it  in  his  voice  as  he  said  — 

"  Whoever  made  it,  it  is  charming.  This  is  our  dance, 
Miss  Drummond,  I  believe,  but  Lady  Arbuthnot  wants 
us  to  desecrate  the  past.  I  mean,"  he  went  on  after  a 
slight  pause,  "  that  we  are  to  take  Jerry  to  see  some 
dreadful  people  dance  the  Lancers  !  " 

"  There  are  some  pasts  which  do  not  admit  of  desecra- 
tion," put  in  Lady  Arbuthnot  sharply,  "and  that  is  one 
of  them." 

"  Neither  to  be  desecrated,  nor  forgotten,"  he  added. 
"  Come  along,  Jerry  !  " 

As  they  passed  out  into  the  garden  Lesley  remained 
silent. 

She  was  conscious  once  again  of  not  understanding 
the  whole  drift  of  the  words  which  had  just  been  spoken. 
And  this  time  her  temper  rose  with  the  certainty  that 


A    VALSE  A   DEUX   TEMPS  20I 

she  was  mixed  up  in  them ;  so,  after  a  bit,  she  frowned 
and  said  point  blank  — 

"  Tell  me,  please,  why  Lady  Arbuthnot  chose  this 
dress  for  me.     I  am  certain  you  know,  don't  you  ?  " 

For  a  moment  he  was  staggered ;  then  he  laughed. 
"  Why,"  he  echoed,  "  have  you  forgotten,  so  soon,  that 
Greensleeves  are  your  racing  colours .''  Bonnie  Lesley's 
colours.  I'm  not  so  ungrateful  as  that,  Miss  Drummond  ; 
but  then  the  money  I  won  on  her  is  next  my  heart  at 
the  present  moment.  Fact,  I  assure  you  ;  for  I  always 
carry  my  betting-book  in  my  breast-pocket  so  as  to  be 
handy  !  " 

She  told  herself  he  was  incorrigible ;  had,  in  fact, 
almost  gone  on  to  the  faint  blame  —  which  in  a  woman's 
mind  covers  all  possible  breaches  of  the  ten  command- 
ments—  of  thinking  he  was  ^^  not  at  all  a  nice  man," 
when  Jerry,  as  he  had  already  done  more  than  once, 
prevented  quarrel  by  such  a  tight  grip  on  both  the  hands 
he  held,  that  ahenation  seemed  impossible  to  them. 

"  Oh  dear!  "  he  sighed,  his  wide  eyes  on  the  couples 
that  were  waiting  in  front  of  the  Residency  for  the 
native  infantry  band,  which  had  been  hastily  summoned 
for  the  al-fresco  dance,  to  strike  up.  "  I  do  wish  there 
wasn't  any  nasty  old  past  to  come  and  make  it  all  make- 
believe,  when  it  might  be  real ;  'cos  it  is  a  deader,  you 
know,  and  we're  alive !  " 

Jack  Raymond  looked  over  to  the  Greensleeves  and 
laughed.  "  Sound  philosophy,  Jerry,"  he  said.  *'  If  it 
was  real,  what  would  you  do  .-*  " 

Jerry  looked  round  thoughtfully.  Beyond  the  lawns 
the  cemetery  gate  showed  dimly,  with  Budlu's  white 
figure  crouched  beside  it. 

"  Kill  Budlu,  or  take  him  prisoner,  I  'spect,"  he  re- 
plied gravely,  "  'cos  the  band,  you  know,  might  be 
loyal." 

At  that  moment  it  crashed  into  the  opening  bars  of 
the  Lancers  with  all  the  go  and  rhythm  which  the 
natives  put  into  dance  music. 

"You're   top!"    came   one   voice;    "No!    you   are," 


202  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

answered  a  second;  "Oh!  do  begin,  some  one!"  pro- 
tested another.  So,  with  a  laugh,  a  scramble,  a  con- 
fusion, a  dozen  or  more  of  dancing  feet  trod  the  grass 
which  had  grown  out  of  blood  stains.  But  the  confusion 
ended  in  order,  so  that  the  pink  tarlatane  was  in  its 
place  to  be  twirled  by  Hodson's  Horse,  and  join  the 
clapping  of  hands  which  ended  the  figure. 

There  was  something  weird  in  the  sight  out  there, 
with  the  flower-beds  set  with  coloured  lights,  the 
Chinese  lanterns  swinging  in  the  trees,  and  the  shadowy 
pile  of  the  Residency  lying  —  more  felt  than  seen  — 
with  its  solitary  tower  and  drooping  flag. 

"  Inside  !  outside  !  Outside  !  inside  !  "  came  the  reck- 
less gay  voices  after  a  time. 

In  the  far  distance  a  fire-balloon  from  some  wedding 
in  the  city,  sailed  up  into  the  sky  above  the  trails  of 
smoke  rising  from  the  torches  which  outlined  the  boun- 
dary of  the  Garden  Mound.  Budlu's  figure,  watching 
the  graves  of  heroes,  showed  closer  in,  then  the  band 
busy  with  cornets  and  oboes,  and  the  masquerading 
figures  with  that  gleam  of  pink  and  white  among  them, 
watched  by  Chris  as  he  stood  half  hidden  in  the  shadow 
of  the  ruins. 

"  Outside  !  inside  !     Inside  !  outside  !  " 

So,  with  another  crash  of  the  band,  the  endless  circle 
of  men  and  women  caught  at  each  other's  hands  as  if 
in  that  touch  lay  all  things  necessary  to  salvation. 

"  Inside  and  outside,"  echoed  Jack  Raymond  grimly. 
"Yes!  Brian  O'Lynn's  breeches  were  comparatively 
sane.  But  we  are  all  more  or  less  mad  to-night,  my 
Lady  Greensleeves.  Upon  my  soul,  Jerry,  you,  as  the 
British  Boy,  are  the  only  one  in  the  place  fit  to  carry 
on  the  British  rule  !  so  come  along  and  have  some  sup- 
per, young  man,  before  you  go  to  bed.  The  champagne 
is  A I — that's  my  department.  Miss  Drummond ;  it's 
all  Vm  fit  for." 

But  Jerry,  who  had  let  go  their  hands  to  step  nearer 
the  Residency  as  if  he  saw  something,  stopped  suddenly 
and  pointed. 


A    FALSE  A   DEUX   TEMPS  203 

"Mr.  Waymond,"  he  said,  in  a  loud  voice,  "who's  that?" 

"Who's  who?" 

"  Him  !  "  — 

The  child  stood  pointing  into  the  shadows,  his  eyes 
wide,  his  whole  face  expectant. 

Jack  Raymond  caught  him  up  by  the  arms  with  a 
laugh,  and  swung  him  up  to  his  shoulder.  "  Don't  be 
creepy,  old  man!  —  there's  no  one  there,"  he  said,  as 
he  turned  back  to  the  club. 

But  Jerry  was  insistent.  He  had  seen  some  one,  he 
protested ;  and  brought  in  a  long  tale  of  what  Budlu 
knew,  and  every  one  knew,  including  his  syce  and  his 
c/niprassi,  to  prove  that  he  had.  Why !  Budlu  himself 
had  seen  the  ghost  several  days,  and  it  meant  some- 
thing just  "  orful  bad,  for  there  didn't  use  to  be  no 
ghosts  in  the  Mound  except  Jan-Ali-shan." 

"  I  wouldn't  let  him  talk  so  much  to  Budlu  and  that 
lot,  if  I  were  you,"  said  Jack  Raymond,  aside  to  Lesley ; 
"  he  takes  it  too  hard,  dear  little  chap." 

"  I  can't  prevent  it,"  retorted  Lesley  rather  resent- 
fully. "  You  see  he  has  to  go  out  and  come  in  through 
the  Mound,  and  then  he  is  such  a  favourite.  The 
natives  simply  worship  him.     I  can't  think  why." 

Jack  Raymond  glanced  at  the  sturdy  little  figure 
which  was  now  tackling  roast  turkey  and  ham  in  bliss- 
ful forgetfulness  of  ghosts. 

"I  expect  they  know,"  he  replied  briefly,  "and  they 
are  not  often  wrong." 

The  Thakoor  of  Dhurmkote,  at  any  rate,  had  no 
doubts;  for  an  hour  after  Jerry  —  under  responsible 
escort  —  had  been  sent  home  across  the  Garden  to  bed, 
Jack  Raymond,  having  strolled  beyond  the  line  of 
lights  and  light  feet  to  enjoy  a  quiet  cigar,  found  the 
two  of  them,  with  an  admiring  tail  —  composed  of  the 
responsible  escort  and  the  old  nobleman's  retinue  — 
going  the  round  of  the  batteries,  while  Jerry  explained 
them  solemnly  to  the  old  warrior  in  English. 

"  And  we  beat  'em  here  too,  sir ;  boys  like  me  beat 
all  their  biggest  men,  right  here." 


204  VOICES  LV  THE  NIGHT 

"  Wall!  zvah r'  chorussed  the  tail  approvingly,  while 
the  stern  old  face  melted  into  smiles,  with  a  ''Suchch 
mera  beta  snc/ich  /"  (Truth,  my  son,  truth  !  ) 

"Hullo?  you  young  scamp!"  said  Jack  Raymond, 
coming  up;  "not  gone  to  bed  yet  —  be  off  with  you  at 
once." 

But  the  Thakoor  laid  a  hand  on  the  arm  of  authority, 
not  in  petition,  rather  in  blame. 

"  Lo !  friend  of  mine,"  he  said  chidingly,  "  why  is 
there  no  son  of  thine  to  match  this  son  of  heroes  ? 
What  hast  thou  been  doing  all  these  years  .''  " 

The  Eastern  reproof  of  the  old  for  those  who  leave 
their  duty  to  the  race  undone,  fell  on  Jack  Raymond's 
Western  ears  and  held  them  unexpectedly. 

Why  had  he  no  son,  in  whom  to  live  again  .-*  The 
answer  could  not  be  avoided  —  because  the  woman  he 
loved  had  jilted  him,  and  he  had  not  chosen  — 

Not  chosen  what  .-*     To  do  his  duty  .'' 

He  smiled.  "  Lo !  friend  of  mine,"  he  answered 
lightly,  "  such  things  are  chance.  My  son  might  have 
been  a  coward." 

But  as,  after  having  seen  Jerry  marched  off  in  the 
direction  of  bed,  and  bidden  good-bye  to  the  Thakoor  — 
who  was  far  more  sleepy  than  the  child  —  he  strolled 
on  with  his  cigar,  he  knew  quite  well  that  the  excuse 
was  a  false  one.  The  thought  of  inheritance,  either  of 
heroism  or  cowardice,  did  not  enter  into  the  question 
with  Englishmen  and  Englishwomen  as  a  rule.  Mar- 
riage was  a  purely  personal  matter.  There,  in  fact, 
lay  the  fundamental  difference  between  the  East  and 
West.  That  was  what  made  it  impossible  for  the  two 
races 

The  sound  of  voices  in  anger  made  him  pause.  He 
had  come  back  to  the  verge  of  lights,  to  the  limit  of  the 
dancing  feet,  and  before  him  rose  the  ruins  of  what  in 
the  old  days  had  been  the  hospital.  The  roof  had 
fallen  in,  but  the  marble  flooring,  raised  above  the  levels 
outside  by  a  half-sunk  foundation  of  cellars,  was  still  in 
almost  perfect  repair.     And  here,  after  supper  —  the 


A    FALSE  A   DEUX    TEMPS  205 

al-fresco  Lancers  having  proved  so  great  a  success  — 
the  mutiny  group  had  chosen  to  improvise  a  ball-room. 
Such  things  are  easily  compassed  in  India,  where  an 
army  of  sweepers  and  servants  appear  in  a  moment. 
Once  swept,  it  needed  little  garnishing ;  for  the  great 
wreaths  of  coral  bignonia  garlanded  it  from  end  to  end, 
and  even  flung  themselves  across  it  here  and  there  like 
rafters.  As  for  lights,  a  few  Chinese  lanterns,  torn 
from  the  trees  and  swung  among  the  flowers,  were 
sufficient  for  dancing ;  and  who  wanted  more .-'  Not 
these  masqueraders,  with  whom,  as  the  hours  grew 
towards  dawn,  the  fun  had  become  fast  and  furious. 
The  club-house,  indeed,  was  now  almost  deserted,  except 
by  the  line  of  carriages,  and  even  this  was  lessening 
every  minute.  Supper  itself  appeared  to  have  migrated 
to  the  open  during  Jack  Raymond's  stroll,  for,  to  his 
intense  disgust,  he  saw  a  table  —  with  champagne  bottles 
showing  prominent — ^  behind  the  flitting  forms  of  the 
dancers ;  flitting  unsteadily,  unevenly,  for  they  were 
trying  the  old  valse,  and  a  woman's  voice  rose  above 
the  laughter. 

"  Oh  !  do  try  and  remember  it  is  a  valse  a  deux  temps 
—  you  can't  help  treading  on  people's  toes  if  you  don't !  " 

Jack  Raymond  had  flung  away  his  cigar  at  the  sight 
of  the  table,  and  was  going  forward  to  object,  forgetful 
of  those  angry  voices,  when  they  rose  again  close  beside 
him. 

"  I  insist  on  your  coming  home.  Viva  !  —  Mr.  Lucan- 
aster,  sir,  let  my  wife  go !  " 

"  Damn  !  "  said  Jack  Raymond  under  his  breath.  He 
grasped  the  situation  in  a  second  and  saw  its  hope- 
lessness. 

"  Go  'way,  sir  —  go  'way,"  came  in  Mr.  Lucanaster's 
voice  ;  "don't  be  foolish."  There  was  a  faint  elation  as 
well  as  elision  in  the  words ;  no  more,  but  it  seemed  to 
make  them  sound  more  contemptuous. 

"Yes;  don't  be  foolish,  Chris.  I'm  going  to  dance 
this  valse  with  Mr.  Lucanaster.  You  can  go  home  if 
you  like." 


206  VOICES  IN   THE  XIGHT 

The  woman's  voice  had  the  note  of  defiance  in  it 
which  means  danger;  but  Chris  did  not  recognise  the 
fact.  He  had  been  working  himself  up  to  this  revolt 
all  the  evening,  and  now,  having  begun  it,  he  went  on 
in  strict  accordance  to  what  he  had  settled  with  himself 
was  the  proper  and  dignified  course  to  pursue. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  drawing  himself  up  and  speaking  with 
great  deliberation,  "  you  are  a  scoundrel,  and  I  shall  take 
the  earliest  opportunity  of  allowing  you  to  prove  the  con- 
trary if  you  choose.  In  the  meantime,  pray  do  not  let  us 
quarrel  before  ladies.     I  request  you  to  unhand  my  wife." 

It  was  not  only  a  man  who  laughed,  it  was  a  woman ; 
and  at  the  sound  Jack  Raymond  swore  under  his  breath 
again,  and  slipped  towards  the  voices. 

The  gleam  of  pink  and  white  and  the  "  Ring-tailed 
Roarer  "  must  evidently  have  been  sitting  out  in  a  small 
summer-house,  where  Chris  had  found  them ;  and  Mr. 
Lucanaster  must  have  risen  and  tried  to  pass  out  with 
the  pink  tarlatane,  for  Chris  stood  barring  the  way 
boldly  enough.  But  that  laugh  was  fatal  to  him.  It 
brought  back  in  a  rush  the  sense  of  his  own  helpless- 
ness, his  inexperience,  and  with  it  came  the  self-pity 
which  is  ever  so  close  to  tears. 

"  Viva  !  "  he  began,  "  surely  you  —  " 

Mr.  Lucanaster  waved  his  hand  lightly,  as  he  might 
have  waved  a  beggar  away. 

"  Don't  be  an  idiot,  my  good  man.  What  the  deuce 
have  you  got  to  do  with  an  English  lady  .-^  —  Come, 
Jennie,  this  two-time  valse  is  ripping." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Jack  Raymond,  stepping  forward  ; 
"  but  Mrs.  Davenant  is  engaged  to  me.  If  you  don't 
think  so,  Lucanaster,  we  can  settle  the  point  by  and  by, 
but  for  the  present  I  advise  you  not  to  have  a  row.  It 
won't  pay." 

The  assertion  varied  not  at  all  from  that  made  by  poor 
Chris  ;  but  the  method  was  different,  and  Mr.  Lucanaster 
fell  back  on  bluster. 

"  You're  d — d  impertinent,  sir  ;  but,  of  course,  if  Mrs. 
Davenant  —  " 


A    VALSE  A   DEUX   TEMPS  20/ 

"  It  will  not  pay  Mrs.  Davenant  to  waste  time  either," 
interrupted  Jack  coolly,  holding  out  his  arm,  "  especially 
as  she  is  so  fond  of  dancing.  It  has  been  a  capital  ball, 
hasn't  it  .-^  "  he  added,  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  occurred, 
when,  with  a  half-apologetic  look  at  her  partner,  she 
accepted  the  proffered  arm,  and  they  passed  on.  "  A 
pity  it  is  over,  but — perhaps  —  you  may  have  others 
like  it.  Davenant !  if  you  will  find  the  dogcart,  I  will 
take  your  wife  to  get  her  cloak,  and  I  daresay  she  would 
like  a  cup  of  soup  before  driving.     I  know  it  is  ready." 

When  they  were  alone,  she  tried  a  little  bluster  too, 
but  he  met  it  with  a  smile.  "  My  dear  lady,"  he  said, 
"it  only  wants  a  very  little  to  kick  Lucanaster  out  of 
the  club,  so  please  look  at  the  business  unselfishly.  It 
is  always  a  pity  to  risk  one's  position  for  a  trifle." 

As  he  handed  Mrs.  Chris  into  the  dogcart,  duly  forti- 
fied by  hot  soup,  Chris  tried  to  wring  his  hand  and  say 
something  grateful,  with  the  result  that  Jack  Raymond 
felt  he  had  been  a  fool  to  interfere,  since  the  catastrophe 
must  come  sooner  or  later. 

The  sooner  the  better.  It  was  always  a  mistake  to 
prolong  the  agony  in  anything. 

He  felt  unusually  low  in  his  mind,  and  so,  after  having 
waited  to  the  very  last  as  in  duty  bound,  to  turn  any 
would-be  revellers  decently  out  of  the  club,  he  lit  another 
cigar  —  his  first  one  having  been  interrupted  —  and 
wandered  out  into  the  Garden  Mound  again.  -Most  of 
the  lights  were  out,  only  a  belated  lantern  or  two  swung 
fitfully  among  the  trees,  but  a  crescent  moon  was  show- 
ing, and  there  was  just  that  faint  hint  of  light  in  the 
sky  which  tells  of  dawn  to  come.  He  sat  down  on  the 
step  of  the  granite  obelisk,  which  held  on  all  four  sides 
the  close-ranged  names  of  those  who  had  given  their 
lives  to  keep  the  English  flag  flying,  and,  full  of  cynical 
disgust  at  much  he  had  seen  that  evening,  asked  him- 
self if  Nashapore  was  likely  to  bring  such  heroism  again 
to  the  storehouse  of  the  world's  good  deeds  .'' 

Perhaps ;  but  even  so,  it  would  have  to  be  something 
very  different  from  that   past   story.     Something   that 


208  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Englishmen  and  women  could  not  monopolise.  For  if, 
after  forty  years  of  government,  our  rule  had  failed  to 
win  over  the  allegiance  of  men  —  like  Chris  Davenant, 
for  instance  —  would  not  that,  in  itself,  be  a  condem- 
nation ? 

And  had  it  won  such  allegiance  ?  With  that  scene 
fresh  in  his  memory.  Jack  Raymond  doubted  if  it  were 
possible. 

Truly  the  conditions  had  changed,  indeed !  As  he 
had  said,  Brian  O'Lynn's  breeches  were  not  in  it  for 
topsyturveydom  ! 

But  with  the  thought  came  also  the  memory  of  what 
he  had  said  about  Jerry  and  the  carrying  on  of  British 
rule ;  and  with  that  came  the  memory  of  what  the 
Thakoor  had  said  about  the  boy. 

Dear  little  chap ! 

A  great  tenderness  swept  through  him  for  the  child. 
And  for  the  child's  mother,  the  woman  who  had  refused — .-' 

The  question  was  not  answered. 

Restarted  up  —  incredulous  —  then  set  off  running, 
calling  as  he  ran,  "Jerry!  Jerry!  What  on  earth  are 
you  up  to  .-^     Jerry  !  Jerry !  " 

For  in  the  dimness  that  was  not  quite  darkness,  he 
had  seen  a  little  figure  running  like  a  hare  between  the 
bushes,  a  little  figure  in  an  Eton  suit  with  a  gleam  of 
white  collar. 

"  Jerry  !  Jerry  !  you  little  fool !  pull  up,  will  you  !  " 
There  was  no  answer,  and  he  had  lost  sight  of  the  boy ; 
but,  as  he  ran  on,  the  sound  of  other  footsteps  behind 
him  made  him  look  round  and  pause.  For  it  was  my 
Lady  Greensleeves  running  too.  He  could  see  the  "  crim- 
son stockings  all  o'  silk,  and  pumps  white  as  is  the  milk," 
as  they  sped  over  the  grass. 

"  Jerry  !  "  she  gasped.     "  Where  is  he  .-•    What  is  it .''  " 

"  On  ahead  somewhere !  God  knows  !  I  told  you  we 
were  all  mad,"  he  answered  as  he  ran  on.  The  flower- 
ing bushes,  growing  thick  upon  the  lawns  near  the 
cemetery,  hid  his  quarry ;  but  suddenly,  on  the  double 
back  towards  the  Residency,  the  child's  figure  showed, 


A    FALSE  A   DEUX   TEMPS  209 

still  running  like  a  hare.  In  the  light  of  a  Chinese 
lantern  that  flared  up  as  candle  met  paper,  his  face 
looked  dogged. 

"  Whoo  hoop  !  gone  away  !  Stick  to  'im,  sir  !  stick 
to  'im  — 

"  For  we'll  all  go  a-'unting  to-day !  we'll  all  go  a-'unting  to-day !  " 

trolled  a  new  voice,  and  two  more  pairs  of  running  feet 
joined  the  chase  as  Jan-Ali-shan  and  Budlu  appeared 
from  the  cemetery. 

"What,  in  the  devil's  name,  is  it  all  about,  Ellison.-'" 
called  Jack  Raymond.     "  Are  we  all  mad  .''    What  is  it .'' " 

"The  ghost,  sir,"  called  back  Jan-Ali-shan,  "thet's 
w'ot  it  is.  Me  and  Budlu  was  watchin'  for  'im,  for  'e's 
bin  takin'  away  my  charakter,  sir,  an'  stealin'  from  the 
poor  an'  needy.  But  Master  Jeremiah  must  a'  seen  'im 
fust,  thet's  'ow  'tis." 

"  He  was  wide  awake  in  his  bed  when  I  came  in," 
panted  my  Lady  Greensleeves,  "  talking  about  wicked 
men  pretending,  and  I  told  him  to  go  to  sleep  —  he 
must  have  got  up  and  dressed.  Jerry  !  Jerry  !  Stop  ! 
Come  back,  do  you  hear.-'  " 

She  might  as  well  have  called  to  the  dead.  The 
child's  figure  showed  on  another  double,  and  before  him 
—  yes,  before  him,  just  rounding  another  bush,  was  a 
ghostly  figure  in  a  white  uniform. 

"  By  Jove !  "  exclaimed  Jack  Raymond,  ignoring  his 
faint  feeling  of  creepiness.  "  There  is  some  one.  This 
is  getting  exciting.  Come  on  !  don't  let  him  slip 
through." 

"  Whoo  hoop !  gone  away  !  Tantivy,  tantivy,  tantivy  !  " 
sang  Jan-Ali-shan. 

So  round  the  Residency,  and  back  towards  the  hospi- 
tal where  the  valse  a  deux  temps  had  been  danced,  Les- 
ley, her  green  sleeves  flying  like  flags,  ran  blindly,  to 
pull  up  in  a  heap  among  the  little  group  of  balked  faces, 
stopped  by  the  wall  of  the  half-sunk  cellars  below  the 
marble  dancing  floor.  A  wall  all  garlanded  down  to  the 
ground  with  bougainvillea  and  bignonia. 


2IO  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

"  He's  here !  the  ghost's  here  !  "  wailed  Jerry.  "  I 
sor'  him  from  the  window  when  I  was  watchin',  lest  he 
should  pull  down  the  flag.  Oh,  ]\Ir.  Waymond,  please 
catch  him !  " 

Jack  Raymond,  who  was  feeling  below  the  trailing- 
flowers,  gave  a  short  exclamation.  "  There's  a  door 
here.     Have  you  a  match  about  you,  Ellison  }  " 

"  Lord  love  you !  "  replied  the  loafer  reproachfully, 
"  I  ain't  such  a  fool,  sir,  as  to  go  ghost-'unting  without  a 
lucifer.     Here  you  are,  sir !  " 

The  next  instant,  beneath  the  creepers  that  parted 
like  a  curtain,  an  open  door  showed  in  the  match  light; 
and  in  the  darkness  within  was  something.  —  What .''  — 

"What  a  horrid  smell!"  said  Lesley,  as  Jack  Ray- 
mond took  a  step  inside  and  held  up  the  match. 

"  Begging  your  parding,  miss,"  put  in  Jan-Ali-shan, 
"it's  a  dead  rat,  that's  w'ot  it  is  —  'once  knozvn,  loved 
for  ever,  oh  !  my  darling.'  " 

"  Horrid !  "  echoed  Jack  Raymond,  in  rather  an  odd 
tone  of  voice.  "  Stand  back,  and  let  me  close  the  door; 
there's  no  use  in  any  one  running  the  gauntlet  of  it." 

He  had  acted  on  the  words  before  any  one  could  raise 
an  objection,  and  they  could  only  hear  his  voice  inartic- 
ulately from  within. 

"  He's  got  the  ghost !  "  cried  Jerry  triumphantly.  "  I 
knew'd  he  was  there.     I  se'ed  him  all  along." 

"  Seems  a  peaceable  sort,  anyhow,"  remarked  Jan- 
Ali-shan,  as  something  like  a  faint  whimper  filtered 
through  the  closed  door. 

It  was  lighter  now.  The  sky  had  paled.  The  shad- 
ows were  turning  grey. 

That  was  perhaps  why  Jack  Raymond's  face  showed 
so  pale,  and  grey,  and  stern  above  his  political  uniform, 
as  he  came  out,  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  fling- 
ing down  the  lighted  match  he  carried,  trod  it  under 
foot. 

"  It's  only  a  poor  devil  of  a  stowaway,"  he  said  calmly. 
"Been  living  here,  I  expect,  some  days.  Ellison  or 
Bedlu,  you  better  go  and  call  the  police.     Stay,  I'll  give 


A    FALSE  A   DEUX   TEMPS  211 

you  a  note.  And  Miss  Drummond,  it  is  high  time  that 
young  ghost  hunter  was  out  of  the  dew — and  you  also." 

Lesley  looked  at  him  with  a  new  swiftness  and  light 
in  her  eyes.  "  Dew  !  "  she  echoed,  "  there  is  no  dew  ! 
I'm  not  a  bit  wet — feel  that !  "  She  walked  deliberately 
up  to  where  he  stood,  his  back  still  against  the  door, 
and  catching  her  long  green  sleeve  in  her  hand,  held  it 
out. 

"  I'll  take  your  word  for  it,"  he  answered  lightly. 

She  did  not  move,  but  her  eyes  sought  his. 

''Cest  la  peste,  monsieur^'  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  second. 

^'C'est  la  peste,  viade7noiselle,"  he  replied  with  a  bow. 


CHAPTER   XIV 


IN    THE    TOILS 


On  the  evening  after  the  ball,  Chris  Davenant  sat  in 
the  pretty  little  drawing-room  of  which  his  wife  was  so 
proud,  looking  helplessly  at  Lala.  Ram  Nath,  who  had 
come  in  on  business.  Yet  the  helplessness  was  not  due, 
Chris  felt,  to  anything  in  Ram  Nath.  It  was  due  to 
himself,  to  his  own  actions.  The  feeling  comes  to  most 
of  us  at  times  ;  for  the  story  of  the  man-created  monster 
which  turns  and  rends  its  creator  is  as  old  as  the  world. 
It  began  with  the  serpent  in  Paradise,  and  will  only  end 
when  humanity,  by  ceasing  to  desire  that  which  it  has 
not,  ceases  to  put  itself  in  the  power  of  its  own 
imaginings. 

Ram  Nath,  however,  had  not  reached  this  stage  of 
development,  and  was  still  supremely  satisfied  with  his 
creature.  "Surely  it  is  out  of  the  question,"  he  was 
saying  in  the  fluent  English  which  came  from  constant 
speechifying,  "that  in  the  present  crisis,  when  the  eyes 
of  all  India  are  fixed  on  what  we  Nushaporites  will 
tolerate,  in  the  event  of  this  plague  epidemic  superven- 
ing, and,  alas!  bringing  in  its  train  interferences  with 
the  liberty  of  the  subjects  beyond  bearing  even  to  the 
long-suffering  races  of  India,  that  you  should  stand 
aloof  from  us,  the  recognised  defenders  of  that  liberty !  " 

Chris  leant  his  head  on  his  hand  wearily.  In  truth  he 
felt  aloof  from  everything  in  God's  round  world,  save 
that  old  man  of  the  sea  whom  he  had  invited,  under  the 
name  of  civilisation,  to  sit  on  his  shoulders. 

"What  have  you  decided  on  doing.''"  he  asked  indif- 
ferently. 

"  Doing .''"  echoed  Ram  Nath  a  trifle  uneasily.  "So 
far  as  we  ourselves  —  we,  that  is,  who  form  the  public 


IiV   THE    TOILS  213 

opinion  of  India  —  are  concerned,  no  definite  action 
seems  at  present  necessary ;  beyond,  of  course,  the 
presenting  of  an  unbroken  front  of  opposition  to  the 
enemy.  At  the  same  time  there  is  mucli  to  be  done  on 
the  sly;  I  mean"  —  he  interrupted  himself  hastily  at 
the  false  idiom  —  "  unostentatiously,  in  order  to  gain  the 
mass  of  the  people  to  our  side." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Chris,  "  you  and  I  can  afford  to 
admit  the  truth,  can't  we.'*  —  that  we  are  not  much 
nearer  to  the  hearts  of  the  people  than  the  English 
whom  we  ape." 

He  spoke  with  a  concentrated  personal  bitterness 
which  brought  greater  hope  and  confidence  into  Ram 
Nath's  persuasions.  "  Undoubtedly.  Therefore  our 
duty  is  palpable.  We  must  seek  every  sympathy  with 
them  that  we  can  legally  find.  For  instance,  their  ad- 
mirable desire  for  religious  freedom,  their  touching 
devotion  to  the  sanctity  of  home,  their  vehement  de- 
fence of  the  modesty  of  their  women.     All  these  —  " 

"  Are  in  the  abstract,"  put  in  Chris  keenly.  "  Let  us 
deal  with  the  concrete,  please ;  it  is  safer."  He  was 
roused  now  by  pure  love  of  argument ;  his  intellect,  to 
which  he  had  sacrificed  so  much,  had  once  more  asserted 
itself ;  the  battle  of  mere  words  had  made  him  forget 
his  heartache. 

They  settled  down  to  it  with  zest,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
debate.  And  when  Chris,  by  sheer  force  of  argument, 
had  made  his  opponent  admit  that  —  setting  generalities 
aside  —  the  expressing  of  sympathy  in  some  details, 
though  expedient,  could  not  be  held  lawful,  they  arrived 
—  so  far  as  any  conclusion  went  —  at  a  regular  impasse  ; 
since,  even  for  Ram  Nath,  it  was  far  easier  to  do  what 
was  logically  indefensible,  than  to  assert  that  it  was 
defensible.  So,  after  this  incursion  into  the  realms  of 
pure  reason,  he  had  to  descend  from  them  with  a  cer- 
tain petulance. 

"  But  it  is  idle  to  wander  beyond  the  pale  of  practical 
politics,"  he  said.  "  Even  EngHsh  statesmen  consult 
the  wishes  of  their  constituents ;  and  so  must  we." 


214  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"  There  is  this  flaw  in  the  analogy,"  interrupted  Chris 
eagerly,  with  an  evident  pleasure  in  the  making  of  a 
point,  "that,  whereas  an  English  constituency  chooses 
its  representative,  we  are  self-elected." 

"True,  true!"  admitted  Ram  Nath  a  trifle  loftily, 
"  though,  as  Mill  points  out  in  his  admirable  treatise, 
analogy  does  not  consist  in  the  identity  of  one  thing 
with  another.  Still,  to  avoid  further  discussion,  the 
question  remains  whether  you  will  join  our  organisa- 
tion." He  drew  a  paper  from  his  pocket  and  laid  it  on 
the  table. 

It  began  :  "  We,  the  undersigned,  do  solemnly  pledge 
ourselves  to  uphold  and  to  protect — " 

The  list  of  what  was  to  be  so  upheld  and  protected  was 
a  long  one.  Indeed  Chris,  running  his  eye  through  it, 
recognised  most  of  the  first  principles  of  sweetness  and 
light. 

"That  is  practically  all,"  put  in  Ram  Nath  rather 
hastily  when  the  end  of  the  third  page  being  reached, 
Chris  seemed  inclined  to  turn  it.  "  You  have  seen 
enough  to  grasp  our  meaning,  and  decide  if  you  can 
support  us." 

"  So  far,"  began  Chris  thoughtfully,  "there  seems  lit- 
tle—  "     Then,  quite  mechanically,  he  did  turn  the  page. 

What  was  written  overleaf  was  in  the  Sanskrit  char- 
acter, and  ran  as  follows  :  — 

"And  to  thee,  daughter  of  SurabJii,  framed  of  tJie  five 
elevients,  auspicious,  pure,  holy,  sprung  from  the  stm, 
source  of  ainbrosia,  %ve  vow  obedience,  reverence,  protec- 
tion. May  he  be  accursed,  O  Sin  Expeller  I  who  curses 
thee.  May  all  men  knozu  that  they  who  kill  them  that 
kill  thee,  are  purified.'' 

Chris  Davenant's  finger  remained  pointed  accusingly 
at  the  black-lettering,  his  clear  intelligent  eyes  sought 
those  other  eyes,  equally  intelligent. 

"Oh,  that!"  said  Ram  Nath  in  instant  petulant  ex- 
cuse. "That  does  not  concern  you  or  me.  We  —  I 
mean  our  class,  the  educated  class  —  understand  that 
it  does  not,  and  so  —  so  we  ignore  it.     You  know,  as 


IN   THE    TOILS  21 5 

well  as  I  do,  that  if  we  were  to  avow  our  real  belief  on 
the  cow  question  —  if  we  did  not  insist  on  what  is 
virtually,  as  you  very  well  know,  the  test  point  between 
the  orthodox  many  and  the  heterodox  few,  we,  the 
latter,  might  as  well  give  up  our  aim  of  benefiting  India, 
our  hope  of  influencing  its  masses.  It  is  for  this  rea- 
son that  the  Arya  Somaj,  though  ofificered  by  men  like 
myself,  has  always  professed  — "  He  paused,  doubt- 
ful of  committing  himself,  even  so  far;  then  went  on, 
evasively :  "  One  has  to  forfeit  some  independence  of 
thought  in  the  effort  to  gain  a  great  end.  Is  not  the 
whole  system  of  party  government  —  in  which,  admit- 
tedly, individuality  must  be  lost  —  a  proof  —  " 

Chris  stood  up  suddenly ;  yet,  despite  the  sudden- 
ness, doubtfully.  "  Party  government !  "  he  echoed. 
**  Let  us  find  out  party  first.  Ram  Nath,  and  as  for  that " 
—  his  voice  and  face  softened  as  he  pointed  again  to 
the  Sanskrit  lettering  —  "that  cannot  be  for  me  —  as 
yet.  It  may  come  back  also.  God  knows !  It  may 
become  real  again  like  —  like  other  things.  Then  I  will 
follow  gladly.  But  not  now.  I  will  not  be  driven,  as  — 
in  time  of  stress  —  that  might  drive  me ;  as  it  will 
surely  drive  you  and  yours  !  " 

Ram  Nath  rose  too,  vexedly,  and  put  the  paper  in 
his  pocket.  "  We  will  not  be  driven.  It  is  knowledge 
that  drives  ignorance,  not  ignorance  knowledge.  Our 
harness  is  ready.  We  will  put  it  on  the  right  horse, 
and  saddle  the  ass  when  the  proper  time  comes,  never 
fear." 

Deadly  in  earnest  as  he  was,  Chris  could  not  forbear 
a  smile ;  but  his  despondent  gravity  was  back  in  a 
second.  "  Not  if  your  hands  are  tied  as  they  will  be," 
he  answered  slowly ;  "  not  if  you  are  in  the  toils  !  " 

He  had  felt  in  them,  himself,  ever  since  the  night 
before,  and  the  feeling  grew  stronger  when  Ram  Nath 
left  him  to  his  solitary  dinner.  For  his  wife,  after 
spending  the  best  part  of  the  day  in  bed  recovering 
from  the  fatigues  of  the  ball,  had  gone  out  to  dine  with 
some  friends  and  e:o  on  with  them    to   the   dress   re- 


2l6  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

hearsal  of  a  burlesque  in  which  she  was  singing  and 
dancing.  She  had  not  taken  any  notice  of  last  night's 
quarrel ;  had,  indeed,  practically  ignored  it  and  said 
good-night  to  him  —  as  she  passed  out  to  the  carriage 
in  her  short  skirts — with  absolute  good  humour. 

So,  baffled,  helpless,  miserable,  he  sat  down  con- 
scientiously to  the  long,  set  meal,  which  his  wife  prided 
herself  was  served  with  as  much  ceremony  as  any  in 
Nushapore.  He  said  "  No  thank  you  "  in  polite  Eng- 
lish fashion  to  half-a-dozen  dishes,  and  still  the  solemn 
exchange  of  one  clean  plate  for  another  went  on  and 
on,  till  he  felt  inclined  to  order  the  servants,  with  their 
ill-concealed  tolerance  of  him  as  the  husband  of  their 
vicm,  out  of  the  room. 

They  left  him  alone,  at  last,  in  company  with  the 
dessert ;  but  even  this  was  not  to  his  taste.  Yet,  in  a 
way,  he  felt  hungry.  So  he  rose  and  went  to  the  side- 
board, cut  himself  a  slice  of  bread,  helped  himself  to 
some  mango  pickle,  and  ate  it  with  rehsh. 

Then  the  mere  fact  of  this  revival  of  a  childish  taste, 
with  its  bathos,  its  hopeless  triviality,  reduced  him 
almost  to  tears,  and  he  came  back  to  sit  before  the 
chocolate  pralines  and  French  draghs,  and  leaning  his 
head  on  his  crossed  arms,  give  himself  up  to  a  dreary 
amaze. 

The  house  was  absolutely  quiet.  The  servants  had 
closed  the  verandah  doors  and  gone  off  to  their  own 
quarters.  Through  the  looped /<?;Yz^;Yi"  which  —  as  in 
so  many  Indian  bungalows  —  hung  in  the  wide  arch 
between  the  dining  and  drawing  rooms,  he  could  see  the 
latter  lit  up  decorously  with  a  superfluity  of  pink  paper 
shades.  One  of  the  windows  opening  on  to  the  garden 
was  ajar,  and  the  light  from  the  lamps  made  the  thin 
split  bamboo  screen,  hung  beyond  it  to  keep  out  the  flies, 
look  like  solid  wood. 

But  as,  after  a  time,  impelled  — even  in  his  blank  un- 
certainty regarding  all  things  —  to  think  of  going  into 
the  drawing-room  decently  and  in  order,  Chris  looked 
up  from  his  dreary  meditations,  the  solidity  of  this  screen 


IN   THE    TOILS  2iy 

wavered.  And  he  saw  the  cause.  A  thin  deHcate  hand 
was  pulling  the  screen  aside  so  as  to  see  into  the 
room. 

"Who  is  it.'"  he  called  at  once.  "What  do  you 
want .'' " 

"  Krishn  Davenund,"  came  a  voice.     It  was  a  woman's. 

"Krishn  Davenund,"  he  echoed  stupidly,  his  heart 
beginning  to  throb.  "Well!  I  am  Krishn  Davenund. 
Who  wants  me  .''  " 

The  next  instant  he  was  standing  as  if  turned  to  stone 
beside  the  table  ;  for  the  white-clad  figure  which  showed 
itself,  and  then  came  swiftly  towards  him,  was  his 
mother's. 

"  Mother !  "  he  faltered.     "  Why  .?  —  what .?  — " 

He  paused,  feeling  there  was  no  reason  here,  no  reason 
at  all  in  the  clinging  hands  about  his  knees,  in  the  pas- 
sionate kisses  rained  on  them  regardless  of  dress  trousers, 
regardless  of  everything  save  that  here  was  the  son  that 
had  been  lost,  and  was  found  again ! 

Not  so  Chris  Davenant.  With  a  certain  rage  he 
realised,  even  as  he  bent  over  her  with  tears  in  his  eyes 
stirred  to  his  innermost  soul,  that  above  all  this  emotion 
lay  a  doubt  as  to  what  he  ought  to  do  next;  whether  he 
should  raise  his  mother  to  the  chair  beside  his,  raise  her 
to  the  unaccustomed,  or  crouch  down  on  the  floor  beside 
her,  himself,  in  forgotten  fashion.  Horrible,  hateful 
thought ;  yet  there  it  was  ! 

She  solved  the  question  herself  unconsciously  with 
the  dignified  humility  of  Eastern  womanhood.  "  Sit 
thou  there,  son  of  thy  father,  master  of  my  widowed 
house,"  she  said,  "  so  at  thy  feet  shall  I  find  son  and 
husband  once  more  !  " 

Then,  in  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  joy,  she  lifted  her  worn, 
refined  face  to  his.  "  Yea !  I  shall  find  Krishn,  my 
Bala-Krishna  once  more  !  Lo  !  canst  thou  forgive  thy 
mother,  child ;  thy  mother  who  denounced  thee,  not 
knowing  that  thou  hadst  returned  —  that  thou  hadst  come 
back  ? " 

"  Come  back  V  he  echoed. 


2l8  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Her  face  was  as  the  face  of  an  angel  over  the  sinner  that 
repenteth.  She  reached  her  thin  arm  from  her  shroud, 
and  laid  her  finger  on  his  lip. 

"  Hush,  child  !  Let  it  be  forgotten.  Let  it  be  as  if  it 
had  never  been.  Thou  canst  tell  me,  after,  why  thou 
saidst  no  word.  Yet  Krishn,  how  could  I  tell .-'  But 
for  the  old  piijari  who  laid  the  caste  mark  on  thy  fore- 
head again,  I  might  never  have  known." 

He  understood  then ;  understood  why  she  had  come 
to  him ;  why  that  clinging  mother's  touch  was  his  own 
once  more.     Poor  mother  ! 

"  Lo !  Krishn  !  "  she  went  on,  interrupting  herself 
hastily  at  the  look  on  his  face,  "be  not  angry  with  me. 
If  thou  didst  know  the  tears  I  have  shed  since  he  told 
me  but  yesterday  !  How  could  I  know  .-•  And  to  think 
I  might  have  killed  thee.     Say  thou  dost  forgive  me  !  " 

"Speak  not  of  forgiveness,  mother,"  he  said  huskily, 
bending  to  kiss  her. 

What  else  could  he  do  }  he  asked  himself.  Could  he 
tell  her  the  truth  —  that  he  had  not  come  back  .-'  Or  had 
he  ?  Or  even  if  he  had  not,  did  he  not  mean  to  do  so } 
He  could  not  say.  He  only  felt  himself  in  the  toils  once 
more. 

"  Leave  the  past  alone,  mother,"  he  said  fondly  ;  "  the 
present  is  enough." 

She  smiled  rapturously  for  a  moment,  and  then  she 
looked  round  anxiously.  "  Nay,  child,  not  yet.  There 
is  thy  wife.  I  must  gain  her  forgiveness  too,  if  mortal 
woman  can  forgive  one  who  might  have  made  hfer  widow  ! 
But  I  will  lie  at  her  feet,  Krishn.  I  will  plead  with  her. 
That  is  why  I  came  hither  —  to  see  her  —  to  call  her 
daughter." 

Chris,  with  those  clinging  arms  about  him,  Chris,  in 
the  luxury  of  being  loved,  gave  a  faint  sob. 

"  She  is  not  here  to-night,  mother,"  he  said  ;  "  but  fret 
not :  she  would  forgive  thee  —  even  hadst  thou  made 
her  widow !  " 

The  worn  old  face  looked  rebuked,  perhaps  a  trifle 
disappointed.     "  Lo  !  I  have  heard  ever,"  she  said,  with 


I.V   THE    TOILS  219 

a  regret  in  her  voice  also,  "  that  they  are  as  angels,  with- 
out jealousy;  not  as  we — " 

Here  the  sight  of  the  dark  intelligent  face  above  hers 
seemed  to  come  upon  her  as  if  it  had  been  her  lover's  and 
she  a  girl.  She  laid  her  head  suddenly  on  his  knee  and 
laughed,  a  laugh  that  held  a  sob.  "  Then  I  have  thee  to 
myself  for  now,  heart's  darling  !  "  she  murmured  —  **  thou 
and  thy  house  !  " 

She  looked  around  her,  full  of  childish  curiosity  and 
amazement.  "  Thou  art  Ameer,  indeed  !  "  she  went  on 
with  awe,  touching  the  tablecloth  gingerly  with  her 
fingers,  "  and  all  those  dishes !  "  she  shook  her  head  dis- 
mally. "  Lo  !  Krishn  !  how  shall  I  ever  feed  thee  when 
thou  comest  to  our  poor  house  .-^  Yet  wilt  thou  not 
mind,"  she  added  ;  "  thou  wert  never  a  greedy  one  !  " 

Then  the  curiosity  prevailed  even  over  her  thoughts 
of  him,  and  clinging  to  his  arm  still,  she  raised  herself 
to  peer  over  the  table  at  the  drawing-room  through  which 
she  had  hurried. 

"  Thou  dost  eat  here,  and  sleep  there,"  she  suggested. 
"  Nay  !  Krishn,  think  not  thy  mother  a  fool ;  but  she 
is  so  glad  —  so  glad — and  all  is  so  new  —  it  is  a 
spectacle !  " 

Her  familiar  face,  so  austere  now  in  its  lines,  yet  still 
so  full  of  life,  furrowed  by  late  tears,  yet  smoothed  by 
present  smiles,  seemed  to  him  the  most  charming  thing 
of  his  very  own  he  had  seen  for  years.  He  rose  like 
the  boy  he  was  in  reality,  and  raised  her  with  him. 
"Come,  little  mother,"  he  said  in  banter.  "Come, 
feminine  one,  and  see  it  all ;  there  will  be  no  peace  for 
talk  till  that  is  over." 

It  came  naturally  to  him,  that  tone  of  superior  affection 
which  he  had  not  dared  to  use  for  so  long.  So,  hand  in 
hand,  he  showed  her  things  strange  and  new ;  and  as  he 
did  so,  saying  that  Viva  had  made  this  or  arranged  that, 
a  certain  content  in  the  fact  grew  up  in  him. 

"  Doth  she  play  this  "i  "  asked  the  widow  in  her  shroud, 
as  she  touched  the  keys  of  the  piano  with  an  awed 
finger. 


220  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"  Yea,  and  sings  too,"  he  replied  proudly.  "  She  shall 
sing  for  thee  next  time"  — he  had  quite  forgotten  reali- 
ties in  this  present  —  "  and  now,"  he  added,  "  thou  must 
see  the  rest,  for  we  sleep  not  here.  This  is  but  for 
sitting." 

He  took  one  of  the  pink-shaded  lamps  and  led  the 
way.  "  This  is  my  room,"  he  said  with  (considering  the 
circumstances)  a  perfectly  childish  pomp  and  delight  in 
his  task. 

His  mother  looked  into  the  slip  of  a  room  with 
approval,  until  she  came  to  the  little  camp-bed  set  in  a 
corner. 

"Are  there  no  flowers  .-"  "  she  asked  quickly:  "the 
wedding  is  not  so  old  yet  —  " 

The  pink-shaded  lamp  trembled  suddenly  in  his  hands. 
He  had  remembered  realities.  "And  this  —  this  is  — 
the  other,"  he  continued,  passing  on. 

The  old  woman  gave  a  cry  of  pure  delight ;  for  there 
were  flowers  here.  Roses  on  the  walls,  the  hangings, 
the  floor ;  roses  fastening  up  the  lace  curtains  of  the 
glittering  bed,  with  its  quilt  of  satin ;  roses  even  on  the 
dressing-table,  trimmed  like  a  rose  itself,  where  Chris, 
with  a  still  unsteady  hand,  set  down  the  rosy  light  to 
sparkle  on  the  silver  brushes  and  combs,  the  silver- 
topped  Heaven-knows-what,  that  lay  upon  it.  For 
Mrs.  Chris  had  been  dressing  for  a  burlesque,  and  had 
required  plenty  of  paints  and  pots ! 

The  old  woman,  in  her  widow's  shroud,  stole  over 
towards  it,  walking  softly  as  if  afraid  of  crushing  the 
roses.  But  there  was  no  awe  in  her  face  now ;  only  a 
vast  curiosity,  as  one  by  one  she  lifted  the  lids  and 
looked  in.  For  ^/n's  she  knew,  t/iis  was  common  to  all 
women. 

Suddenly  she  glanced  round  at  her  son,  and  nodded 
archly  ere  proceeding  with  her  inspection. 

"  Yea  !  She  is  good,  and  thou  art  blessed  in  one  who 
careth  for  thy  love,"  she  said  softly. 

Poor  Chris ! 

He  stood  staring  at  his  mother,  staring  at  the  paints 


IN   THE    TOILS  221 

and  patches,  staring  at  everything  feminine  in  this 
world  and  the  next,  without  a  word,  without  almost  a 
thought. 

Only  with  a  sort  of  vague  wonder  if  this  —  this  incon- 
ceivable position  — was  the  common  ground  between 
those  things  feminine  ? 

A  sniff  at  a  silver-topped  bottle  of  White-Rose  scent 
ended  the  inspection  by  bringing  a  sudden  recollection, 
a  sudden  new  interest  to  his  mother's  face. 

"Lo!  I  had  nigh  forgotten,"  she  said,  searching  in 
the  folds  of  her  shroud  with  some  trepidation,  then 
relieved,  coming  towards  him.  "  Naraini  —  thou  dost 
remember  thy  cousin  Naraini,  Krishn,  though  she  was 
but  a  child  when  thou  didst  leave  .-'  "  — 

"Yea,  I  remember,"  he  said,  his  bewilderment  pass- 
ing into  something  tangible,  something  that  sent  him 
hot  and  cold,  that  made  him  clinch  his  hands  and  try  to 
bring  the  dull  surprise  back  again.     "  What  then  t  " 

"The  girl  hath  a  fancy  —  Didst  thou,  by  chance, 
seek  our  house  that  morning,  Krishn .-'  I  tell  her  it 
could  not  be,  that  thou  wouldst  not  have  gone  away, 
but  girls'  fancies  are  ill  to  soothe ;  and  she  hath  wept  all 
night  lest  by  her  petulance  she  had  driven  thee  forth. 
She  did  penance  for  it,  poor  child,  within  the  hour,  for 
having  shown  evil  temper  to  a  holy  one ;  but  since  the 
pujari^  tale,  she  will  have  it  that  it  was  thou  —  So  I 
gave  my  word  I  would  ask  thee,  just  to  comfort  her, 
though  it  is  idle —  " 

Chris  stood  quite  still. 

"  It  is  not  idle,"  he  replied  in  a  set  voice,  "I  —  I 
begged  of  her  —  " 

His  mother  gave  a  horrified  exclamation.  "  And  she 
did  fling  the  corn  in  the  gutter !  The  Gods  are  good 
that  worse  did  not  come  of  it !  The  wicked  one  !  For 
this  I  might  have  killed  my  son ;  for  hadst  thou  come 
in,  I  would  have  known  —  " 

"  I  was  not  coming  in,"  said  Chris,  reverting  to  a 
Western  quickness  of  speech,  "tell  her  that,  please, 
Aniviar 


222  VOICES  IN   THE   NIGHT 

His  mother  pursed  up  her  lips.  "  I  have  a  mind  not ; 
as  I  have  a  mind  not  to  give  thee  what  she  sent." 

"  What  she  sent }  "  echoed  Chris  hotly.  "  Give  it  me, 
mother,  give  it  at  once !  " 

One  corner  of  the  shroud  came  out  from  the  folds 
obediently.  It  was  knotted  round  something  small  and 
scented  ;  and  —  even  through  that  shroud  —  the  perfume 
of  roses  drifted  from  it  into  the  rosy  room. 

"  Lo  !  there  it  is  —  that,  and  her  sense  of  sin.  She 
hath  done  penance,  as  I  said,  but  she  shall  do  ten  more 
or  ever  I  return  !  " 

It  was  only  a  little  round  cardboard  box  she  put  into 
his  hand ;  a  box  with  a  quaint  domed  lid  such  as  girls 
keep  their  trinkets  in,  but  it  w^as  covered  and  lined  with 
brocaded  silk  that  must  have  been  soaked  in  af/ar  from 
the  scent  it  held,  and  that  somehow  suggested  the 
scented  fingers  which  had  sewn  on  the  silver  and  gold 
twists,  the  little  pearls  and  crystals,  with  which  it  was 
so  cunningly  adorned.  Chris  had  seen  such  caskets 
often  in  the  days  when  he  had  gone  to  weddings  with 
his  mother ;  they  were  part  of  the  bride's  trousseau, 
made  always  by  the  bride  herself. 

And  this  one  Naraini  had  made.  He  opened  it  with 
a  strange  mixture  of  fear  and  hope :  fear  lest  it  might 
contain  something  to  spoil  that  picture  of  the  girl  his 
memory  held,  and  that  held  his  fancy ;  hope  that  it 
might  hold  something  to  enhance  it. 

And  it  did.  For  it  was  full  of  golden  corn,  such  corn 
as  she  had  thrown  in  the  gutter  at  his  feet. 

He  sat  looking  at  it  long  after  he  had  returned  from 
seeing  his  mother  safe  back  to  the  city.  He  sat  look- 
ing at  it  until  the  rumbling  of  carriages  outside  told  him 
his  wife  would  soon  be  coming  from  the  burlesque. 
Then  he  took  the  pink-shaded  lamp  again,  and  put  the 
little  box  away  in  his  room,  in  a  drawer  where  there 
was  already  a  little  packet  of  yellow  corn.  And,  as  he 
did  so,  he  felt  that  he  was  in  the  toils  indeed. 

The  sound  of  his  wife's  and  Mr.  Lucanaster's  voices 
as  they  bid  good-night  to  each  other  in  the  garden  did 
not  tend  to  lessen  that  sense. 


LV   THE    TOILS  223 

But,  in  truth,  that  feeling  of  being  enmeshed  was 
not  peculiar  to  Chris  Davenant,  even  in  Shark  Lane. 

Ram  Nath  himself,  as  he  finished  an  article  which 
was  to  appear  in  the  Voice  of  India  —  an  article  which 
he  wrote  coolly,  calmly,  with  a  certain  pride  in  its  even 
balance  of  thought,  and  then  deliberately  interspersed 
with  glowing  periods  of  pure  passion  for  the  sake  of 
his  audience  —  felt  as  an  engineer  might  feel  who  knows 
that  the  pressure  on  a  throttle  valve  is  getting  beyond 
the  escape  he  can  give  it,  and  knows  also  that  he  can- 
not stop  the  stokers  from  putting  on  more  coal.  He 
comforted  himself,  however,  by  thinking,  what  was 
indeed  the  truth,  that  he  was  actually  doing  no  more 
than  many  a  party  politician  does  in  England.  The 
difference  lay  in  the  environment :  the  difference  of 
throwing  matches  into  a  fire  which  burns  rubbish, 
and  the  throwing  of  them  into  rubbish  which  turns  to 
fire. 

Then  Mr.  Lucanaster,  even  as  he  told  Mrs.  Chris 
tenderly  that  he  had  had  what  he  called  "ripplin'  time" 
in  her  company,  and  that  he  meant  to  dream  of  it,  knew 
that  before  he  granted  himself  the  luxury  of  sleep,  he 
must  think  over  more  important  matters  than  his  rela- 
tions with  her,  and  find  out  how  far  he  had  committed 
himself  in  regard  to  them. 

For  he  had  been  taken  by  surprise  that  day.  With- 
out a  word  of  warning,  the  detectives  had  consulted 
him,  as  an  expert  in  pearls,  regarding  the  four  found  in 
Miss  Leezie's  house.  As  usual  when  taken  aback  —  for 
he  was  not  a  villain  of  the  first  water  —  he  had  tempo- 
rised with  the  question.  Second  thoughts,  however,  had 
.shown  him  that  by  failing  at  once  to  admit  that  he  held 
the  remainder  of  the  string  for  Jehan,  he  had  tied  his 
own  hands  from  doing  so  in  the  future.  Therefore,  if 
the  latter  was  called  upon  to  produce  them,  he  had  only 
two  alternatives.  He  must  either  deny  possession,  or 
yield  it  before  that  possession  was  publicly  asserted  at 
all.  In  either  case  he  lost  his  hold  on  the  emerald. 
So,  partly  for  this  reason,  partly  because  he  was  not 


224  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

prepared  to  go  to  the  extremes  of  villainy,  he  felt  that 
he  regretted  having  touched  the  business  at  all. 

Jehan  himself,  however,  had  no  conception  that  his 
position  in  regard  to  Mr.  Lucanaster  had  altered,  except 
by  his  own  possession  of  the  ring.  The  presence  of 
that  on  his  finger,  indeed,  would  have  given  him  per- 
fect confidence,  but  for  the  fact  that  it  brought  with  it 
a  strange  recrudescence  of  responsibility.  Jehan  with 
the  ring  and  Jehan  without  it  were  two  different  men. 
He  found  himself,  even  as  he  wept  —  and  he  did  weep 
copiously  and  openly  over  little  Sa'adut's  loss  —  thinking 
of  another  heir,  of  vague  possibilities  and  powers.  His 
very  determination  to  mete  out  proper  punishment  to 
Sobrai  grew  in  dignity ;  the  necessity  for  it  became 
more  of  a  duty,  less  of  a  revenge.  And  all  this  made 
him  defer,  till  the  last  minute,  any  communication  with 
Mr.  Lucanaster.  Time  enough  to  let  him  know  that 
the  ring  was  really  within  reach,  when  the  police  should 
ask  for  the  production  of  the  pearls.  That  might  be 
never ;  and  then,  indeed,  Jehan  felt  he  would  be  free  to 
make  bargains.  Meanwhile,  the  safest  place  in  which 
to  keep  the  treasure,  seeing  that  for  all  he  knew  Noor- 
mahal  might  have  discovered  its  abstraction,  and  set 
her  agents  to  recover  it,  was  his  own  finger.  So  there 
it  remained  day  and  night. 

But  Noormahal  had  not  discovered  her  loss.  Khojee 
had  told  her  lie  all  too  well  for  any  doubt  in  the  poor 
bewildered  brain,  which  had  more  than  it  could  compass 
in  the  hopeless  effort  to  realise  that  Sa'adut  was  dead 
and  buried.  For  the  memory  of  that  first  day,  when 
they  had  roused  her  at  the  last,  and  she  had  sat  clutch- 
ing at  the  little  swathed  bundle  of  white  and  gold  till 
they  took  it  from  her,  had  happily  gone  from  her  also. 
She  still  lay,  for  the  most  part,  in  a  stupor.  Lateefa 
saw  her  so,  when  —  the  etiquette  of  a  mourning  house 
making  it  inconvenient  for  him  to  continue  his  trade  of 
kite-making  in  the  wide  outer  courtyard  —  he  had  gone 
to  take  away  his  materials.  But  Khojee  had  told  him 
it  was  not  always  so ;  that  sometimes  the  Nawabin  had 


IN   THE    TOILS  22  5 

paroxysms  of  grief,  for  which  there  could  be,  there  never 
had  been,  but  one  remedy.  And  that  was  a  most  precious 
essence  compounded  out  of  the  sweetest  flowers  in  a 
King's  garden.  In  the  old  days  it  had  always  been 
ready  in  the  palace ;  but  now  whence  was  a  poor  old 
woman  to  get  ''khnsh-itr" ?  that  "essence  of  happiness  " 
which  cost  God  knows  how  many  times  its  weight  in  gold  ! 
As  it  was,  she  had  gone  the  length  of  pawning  Khadjee's 
best  pink  satin  trousers  on  the  sly,  in  order  to  get  cheaper 
specifics ;  and  somehow  or  another,  those  precious  gar- 
ments must  be  redeemed  before  the  mourning-parties 
began,  or  Khadjee  would  die  of  chagrin  also.  Then 
there  would  be  no  one  left,  since  even  he,  Lateefa,  was 
going.  She  spoke,  as  ever,  without  a  suspicion  of  blame, 
and  when  she  hoped  he  had  not  forgotten  his  promise 
regarding  the  ring,  her  voice  was  an  apology  in  itself. 

Lateefa,  as  he  went  out  under  the  gateway  with  its 
plaster  peacocks,  told  himself  that  he  almost  wished  he 
could  forget.  As  it  was,  the  green  gleam  on  Jehan's 
finger  kept  him  on  the  strain  in  a  quite  unexpected  way. 
He  never  saw  it  but  Khojee's  kind  wrinkled  face,  and 
her  appeal  for  old  Khojee,  ugly  Khojee,  came  back  to 
his  mind  with  a  curious  compelling  force. 

As  he  sat,  afterwards,  in  one  corner  of  the  tiny  square 
of  courtyard  that  was  set  round,  like  a  well,  with  high 
brick  walls,  where  Jehan  and  Burkut  were  playing  ^carttf 
with  an  intolerably  dirty  pack  of  cards,  each  crouched 
on  the  same  string  bed  (which  also  served  as  a  table), 
he  could  not  help  watching  that  gleam,  and  thereby 
imperilling  the  perfect  balance  of  some  kites  he  was 
fitting  with  their  tails.  For  there  was  a  notable  series 
of  matches  to  be  flown  that  evening,  and  the  sideway 
sweep  of  a  real  kite  overhead  warned  him  that  there 
would  be  wind.  Wind  sufficient  to  warrant  a  trifle  of 
ballast,  perhaps,  to  these  light  creatures  of  his.  He  had 
one  afloat  already,  on  trial,  just  above  the  top  of  the 
houses,  where,  gay  in  the  sunlight,  it  hung  tilted  to  lee- 
ward almost  motionless.  Lateefa  tested  the  strain  on 
the  cord  with  a  finger,  as  if  it  had  been  a  violin  string, 


226  VOICES  LV    THE  NIGHT 

and  as  he  did  so  his  high  trilling  voice  warbled  over  one 
of  those  ingenious  versicles  that  are  more  of  a  puzzle 
than  of  poetry  —  seeing  that  almost  every  letter  in  them 
has  a  mathematical  value  —  which  the  idle  in  India  love 
to  turn  and  twist. 

"  Lateefa  made  of  naught,  made  thee  of  naught, 
Lateef  who  never  sought  the  Hfe  God  brought, 
Lateef  who's  bound  and  caught  in  right  and  ought, 
But  he  forbids  thee  naught,  since  thou  art  naught, 
Sail  east,  west,  south,  or  north,  choose  thine  own  port  ! 
Thou  thing  of  naught  ! '" 

Jehan  swore  under  his  breath  ;  the  cards  were  against 
him.  The  stakes  laid  on  the  bed  between  him  and  his 
adversary  had  taken  his  last  available  rupee;  and,  of 
late,  even  Burkut  had  refused  to  play  without  money 
down.  He  looked  round  sullenly,  then  turned  again  to 
shuffle  the  pack. 

"  My  nakedness  against  thine,"  he  said  gruffly;  "the 
clothes  are  worth  a  gold  vio/nir,  I'll  warrant." 

That  was  about  it,  since  they  were  both  dressed  in 
the  ordinary  white  garments  of  nobility  at  its  ease. 

Burkut  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "If  it  please  thee 
—  as  we  sit,  then.     'Tis  thy  turn  to  deal !  " 

Lateefa  looked  up  quickly  from  his  work.  "The 
Nawab  will  deal  better  without  the  signet  of  royalty," 
he  said  significantly,  and  as  Jehan  paused,  IBurkut 
frowned  and  laughed  at  the  same  time. 

"  Yea !  "  he  said  airily,  "  that  would  fetch  more  than 
a  gold  7nohiir  if  'twere  sold.     Take  it  off,  my  lord." 

"  I  will  do  what  I  choose  without  thy  bidding," 
retorted  Jehan  haughtily,  as  he  drew  the  ring  from  his 
finger  and  laid  it  for  safety  just  behind  him  on  the 
string  bed. 

Lateefa  could  see  it  plainly  as  the  cards  fell  from 
Jehan's  hand;  cards  that  were  in  his  favor;  so  much 
so  that  he  could  not  avoid  a  triumphant  smile. 

The  game  seemed  his,  but  he  played  a  false  card  and 
lost  a  point. 

He  dashed  the  tricks  down  with  such  force  that  the 


IN  THE    TOILS  227 

springy  plaited  twine  recoiled  from  the  blow ;  recoiled 
and  sprang  up  again. 

Lateefa  couM  see  the  green  gleam  more  clearly  than 
ever  now,  for  the  ring  lay  in  the  dust  within  reach  of 
his  hand.  It  had  jumped  from  the  bed,  like  a  clay 
pigeon  from  a  trap,  under  that  petulant  blow.  But  the 
players  had  not  noticed  it,  they  were  going  on  with 
their  game  unconcernedly. 

Only  Lateefa's  eyes  were  on  that  gold  and  green, 
half  hidden  in  the  dust ! 

"//"  tJioii.  hast  the  chance."  He  heard  the  words  as 
plainly  as  if  Khojee  had  been  beside  him. 

But  this  was  no  chance.  The  loss  would  be  discovered 
in  a  minute  or  two.  And  then  it  would  be  a  mere  ques- 
tion of  search ;  for  there  could  be  no  suspicion  of  any 
one  else,  since  the  bed  on  which  those  two  were  playing 
was  set  right  across  the  only  entrance  to  that  well  of 
wall  in  which  there  was  no  place  of  concealment  — 
none ! 

No  !  it  was  not  a  chance  ! 

Yet  he  heard  his  reply  now  — 

*'0n  my  kites  I  projuise ;  since  they  be  my  creaiiires, 
to  fly  or  fail  as  I  make  them." 

On  his  kites !   .   .   . 

A  sort  of  dazzle  came  to  the  sunshine,  a  dazzle  to 
his  brain.  He  gave  a  sudden  reckless  laugh,  his  hand 
went  out  to  the  ring  swiftly,  and  busied  itself  still  more 
swiftly  as  he  sang,  in  the  varying  measure  to  which 
such  versicles  lend  themselves,  a  new  version  of  the  old 
words  — 

"  Lateefa  made  of  naught, 
Lateef  who's  bound  and  caught ; 
Lo  !  he  forbids  thee  naught, 
Sail  east,  west,  south,  or  north  ! 
Choose  thine  own  port ! '' 

The  kite  which — ^as  he  sang  —  twisted  and  twirled 
upwards  from  his  dexterous  throw,  seemed  at  first  as 
if  it  was  uncertain  what  to  choose. 

"I  mark  the  king!"  said  Burkut  with  an  oily  smile, 


228  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

and  once  more  Jehan   with  an    oath    flung    down    the 
cards. 

But  by  this  time  both  kites  were  tiltmg  steadily  to 
leeward,  and  only  Lateefa's  skilful  finger  could,  in 
striking  the  strings  that  held  them  captive,  have  told 
that  one  had  a  trifle  more  ballast  to* carry  than  the 
other. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE    RAM    RUCKI 

Jack  Raymond's  admission,  "  Cest  la  peste,  mademoi- 
selle,'" had  been  made  under  compulsion.  Lesley,  he  had 
recognised,  was  not  one  to  be  put  off  by  evasion  ;  and 
yet  his  first  impulse  had  been  to  keep  his  discovery  to 
himself.  For  the  sense  of  authority  to  deal  with  men 
and  things,  which  he  had  had  in  the  past,  was  apt  to 
return  to  him  when  he  found  himself  in  a  tight  place. 
Therefore,  the  necessity  for  avoiding  a  scare  had  seemed 
to  him  paramount,  and  he  had  followed  up  his  low-toned 
admission  by  a  rapid  request  that  Lesley  should  take 
Jerry  home  to  bed,  and  say  nothing  to  anybody  of  the 
adventure. 

But  by  the  time  the  green  sleeves  had  disappeared, 
obediently,  over  the  dim  lawns  that  were  just  becom- 
ing visible  in  the  dawn,  his  sense  of  responsibility  had 
passed. 

He  told  himself  it  was  none  of  his  business  and  that 
once  he  had  handed  over  the  case  to  the  police,  the 
matter  would  be  ended  so  far  as  he  was  concerned. 
So  far,  also,  as  every  one  was  concerned,  if  the  au- 
thorities had  any  sense ;  since  Lesley  would  hold  her 
tongue,  Jerry's  ghost  could  be  laid  and  laughed  at, 
Budlu  bribed,  and  Jan-Ali-shan  — 

He  looked  round,  wondering  if  the  latter  had  gone  or 
not,  but  could  see  nothing.  An  elaborately  conscien- 
tious hawking  and  spitting,  however,  from  the  shadow 
of  a  distant  bush,  told  him  not  only  that  John  Ellison 
was  there,  but  that  he  had  grasped  the  situation. 

"  'Ave  a  quid  o'  bitter  yerbs,  sir,"  came  the  loafer's 
voice  resignedly.     "  It's  a  camphor  bush,  sir,  an'  there 

229 


230  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

ain't  no  good  in  givin'  in  to  plague  an'  pestilence  with- 
out a  '  Good  Lord  deliver  us.'     Is  there,  sir  ?  " 

The  question  had  an  almost  pathetic  apprehension 
in  it. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  assented  Jack  Raymond.  "  Have  a  cigar 
instead,  Ellison.  I'll  light  one  for  you  and  chuck  it 
over."  He  knew  his  man ;  knew  that  without  being 
a  coward  he  was  for  the  moment  desperately  afraid. 
Two  very  different  things ;  since  time  cures  one,  and 
the  other  is  persistent. 

So  for  a  minute  or  two  there  was  silence.  Then 
from  the  shadow  of  the  camphor  bush  came  a  more 
confident  cough. 

"  If  you  did  'appen  to  'ave  a  drop  o'  brandy,"  began 
the  voice  tentatively,  "  though  if  you  'aven't,  sir,  it's 
'Thy  will  be  done!'  An'  that  bein'  so,  there's  nothin' 
left  but  w'ot  the  nation  you  an'  me's  got  to  do  next } 
'Ow  many  corpses  is  there,  sir  .-•  " 

Jack  Raymond  smiled,  feeling  that  he  had  judged  his 
man  rightly. 

"  There  is  only  the  poor  devil  we  chased  left  alive," 
he  answered ;  "the  two  children,  the  woman,  and  a  ser- 
vant are  dead.  They  have  been  there  nearly  a  week. 
Refugees  from  down  country  who  managed  to  slip  past 
quarantine.  He  is  a  Nushapore  man  by  birth,  and,  just 
as  they  were  coming  to  the  journey's  end,  one  child  fell 
sick.  So,  to  escape  inspection,  he  alighted  at  the  last 
roadside  station  and  walked  in  at  night.  He  had  to 
pass  the  Garden  Mound,  of  course,  and  it  struck  him 
it  would  be  safer  to  find  out  first  if  his  people  would 
take  him  in.  So  he,  knowing  the  ropes,  hid  his  family 
here  for  the  day.  Then  his  people  were  alarmed,  an- 
other child  sickened,  et  cetera.  So  he  stopped  on  here, 
getting  to  and  from  the  bazaar  for  what  he  wanted  at 
night,  dressed  in  an  old  white  uniform  —  " 

A  low  whistle  came  from  the  camphor  bush,  and  a 
murmur,  "  No,  you  don't,  sonny  !     No,  you  don't !  " 

"  Yes !  it  was  rather  a  'cute  dodge,  but  he's  an  edu- 
cated man.     Well !    the  last  child  died  yesterday,  and 


THE  RAM  RUCKI  23  I 

he  went  off  to  get  medicine  for  his  wife,  hoping  to 
sneak  back  as  usual.  But  the  garden  was  full  up 
with  Chinese  lanterns  and  bands ;  and  they  were  danc- 
ing—" 

"  Deary  dear  !  "  interrupted  the  distant  voice  sympa- 
thetically, "so  'e  'ad  to  lounge  around,  awaitin'  for 
'  Gord  save  our  gracious  Queen  '  to  let  'im  see  if  'is 
lawful  wife  'ad  chucked  it !  Well,  sir,  black  or  white, 
it  do  seem  cruel  'ard " — there  was  a  pause,  another 
ostentatious  clearing  of  the  throat  —  "  but  'e  knows  the 
worst  now,  sir,"  went  on  Jan-Ali-shan,  "  so  why  not 
'ave  the  pore  soul  out 

"  *  where  the  breezes  blow,' 

on  'is  parallel,  as  the  sayin'  is  ?  It  'ud  be  more 
'olesome,  special  if  'e's  got  to  be  took  in  'and.  As 
it  say  in  'Oly  Writ, 

" '  Separate  ye  the  livin'  from  the  dead,  an'  the  plague  was  stayed.' 

Beg  pardin',  sir,  but  'avin'  bin  seven  year  in  a  surplus 
chore,  it  come  natural-like." 

Jack  Raymond  thought  that  it  did ;  thought,  as  he 
sat  waiting,  that  the  loafer,  given  a  free  hand,  would 
probably  settle  the  business  as  well  as  any  one  else. 
His  suggestion  was  sound,  anyhow.  So,  after  a  bit, 
there  were  three  shadowy  figures  planted  out  on  the 
lawns  at  respectful  distances  from  each  other.  The 
last  one,  a  dejected  heap,  huddled  up  on  the  grass, 
whimpering  softly. 

"  If  you  'ad  another  o'  them  hanti-microbber-tail- 
twisters  about  you,  sir,"  came  the  suggestive  voice 
between  vehement  puffings  at  a  cigar,  "  it  'ud  tickle  'im 
up,  like  as  it  done  me.  An'  bein'  a  Bombay  duck,  as 
the  sayin'  is,  'e'd  smoke  'is  grandmother's  curl-papers ! 
I  know  them  down-country  taboos.  'Week  in,  week 
out,  you  can  'ear  their  bellows  blow.'  An'  '  Gord  save 
our  gracious  Queen'  'as  bin  cruel  'ard  on  'em,  sir  —  to 
say  nothin'  o'  its  bein'  a  sight  safer  to  pizen  'is  bla'ck- 
sill'ys." 


232  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

Jack  Raymond  smiled.  Jan-Ali-shan  was  wisdom 
itself.  So  the  further  shadow  was  supplied  with  a 
cigar,  while  a  comparatively  reckless  voice  hummed 
cheerfully  — 

"Tobacco  is  an  Indian  weed, 
Grows  green  at  morn,  cut  down  at  eve  ; 
Thus  we  decay,  we  are  but  clay, 
Think  of  this  when  you  smoke  tobacco  ! " 

"  Seems  to  me,  sir,"  it  broke  off  at  last  to  say,  "  that 
there's  only  us  three  to  take  count  on,  so  to  speak. 
Them  pore  things  in  there  'as  sum-totalled  up  their  little 
bills.  An',  as  the  minister's  man  said  when  they  come 
worryin'  round  for  a  grave,  an'  'e  busy  plantin'  sprouts 
—  'Corpses'll  keep  an'  kebbiges  won't!'  so  why  not 
leave  'em  comfortable  for  to-night .''  We  don't  want  no 
crowd  comin'  round  to  see  the  place  where  we  laid  'em, 
do  we,  sir  .-•  An'  Madam  Toosaw's  ain't  nothin*  to 
bazaar  folk  for  the  chamber  o'  'orrers  if  they  get  the 
chanst.  Then  as  for  'im,  pore  devil,  'e  imist  go  to 
quarantine  camp  as  a  suspect  anyhow,  so  it  wouldn't 
make  any  odds  to  'im,  would  it,  sir  .-'  An'  we  could  tell 
'im  to  'old  'is  tongue  or  worse  befall,  couldn't  we,  sir } 
An'  that  'ud  tone  down  the  colour  a  bit,  as  the  sayin'  is, 
more  nor  lettin'  the  police  send  round  the  town-crier." 

"  How  about  Budlu  t "  asked  Jack  Raymond  tenta- 
tively ;  but  Jan-Ali-shan  was  ready  for  him. 

"  Give  'im  in  charge  'isself,  as  'e  ought  ter  be,  for 
disreliction  o'  duty  in  allowin'  ghosts.  That  'ud  stop  'is 
mouth,  sir ;  special  as  'e  don't  know  nothin'." 

The  simplicity  of  the  plan  was  obvious.  It  would 
even.  Jack  Raymond  felt,  take  the  responsibility  of 
informing  the  police  off  his  shoulders.  He  need  only 
give  the  stowaway  in  charge,  then  go  round  to  the  civil 
surgeon,  tell  him  the  truth,  and  leave  him  to  decide 
whether  or  not  to  hush  up  the  matter  absolutely  —  as  he 
could  easily  do  by  the  aid  of  quicklime  and  a  few  stones. 

"  In  that  case,"  he  said,  after  a  pause  for  deliberation, 
"  the  sooner  we  move  off  from  this  particular  place  —  " 


THE  RAM  RUCKI  233 

"  Just  SO,  sir !  "  interrupted  Jan-Ali-shan.  "  Dro'r  the 
enemy's  fire  h'off  the  weak  spot.  So,  if  you'll  take  'im 
over  to  the  general's  'ouse,  an'  settle  'is  an'  Budlu's  'ash 
when  the  perlice  come,  I'll  'ang  round  about  them  pore 
things  inside,  an'  warble  'ymns  an'  psalms  an'  spiritooal 
songs  till  you've  done  the  job.  It  won't  'urt  'em,  sir," 
he  added  apologetically,  "  an'  it'll  kinder  keep  up  my 
sperits." 

It  appeared  to  do  so,  for  when,  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
afterwards.  Jack  Raymond,  after  finishing  his  task, 
returned  to  that  part  of  the  garden  on  his  way  to  the 
civil  surgeon,  he  heard  quite  a  cheerful  version  of 
"  Wrap  me  up  in  my  tarpaulin  jacket"  coming  from  the 
camphor  bush.  And  when,  just  as  the  sky  was  prim- 
rose with  the  first  sunbeams,  he  returned  once  more  to 
release  Jan-Ali-shan  from  his  voluntary  lyke-wake,  he 
found  him  seated  on  the  plinth  of  the  mutiny  memorial 
going  methodically  through  "  John  Brown's  body,"  as 
sung  by  convivial  parties,  with  the  elision  of  a  word  at 
each  verse. 

It  was  near  its  end,  so  that  only  "John"  had  to  be 
vocalized  when  Jack  Raymond  came  up ;  but  the  beat- 
ing of  the  silent  tune  went  on  vigorously  while  he  told 
Jan-Ali-shan  that  the  civil  surgeon  had  expressed  his 
entire  approval  of  the  plan,  which  he  characterised  as 
a  stroke  of  administrative  genius  ! 

"  '  But  'is  soul  goes  marchin'  on  ! '  "  burst  out  Jan-Ali- 
shan,  finishing  his  song  at  the  proper  beat.  Then  he 
rose,  pulled  his  sleeves  over  his  cuffs,  and  nodded  his 
head  gravely.  "  That's  'ow  it  is,  sir.  'Is  soul  goes 
marchin'  on.  That  sort  o'  strokes  come  to  a  feller,  they 
do,  in  the  Carding  Mound,  an'  will  do,  please  God,  as 
long  as  there's  a  white  face  among  the  black." 

So  singing  "  Silver  threads  among  the  gold,"  he 
sloped  off  through  the  cemetery,  then  over  the  wall 
to  his  work  citywards,  feeling  that,  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned,  the  incident  was  over. 

But  to  Jack  Raymond,  as  he  went  back  to  the  club, 
came  the  remembrance  that  Lesley  Drummond  must  be 


234  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT' 

told  that  her  question  and  his  answer  were  to  remain 
a  secret  between  them.  The  idea  annoyed  him,  all  the 
more  so  because  of  the  remembrance  of  Grace  Arbuth- 
not's  guilty  face  when  Lesley  had  Idt  the  cat  out  of  the 
bag  concerning  the  origin  of  the  green  sleeves  !  Never- 
theless, it  was  inevitable,  so  he  sat  down  in  an  ill-humour, 
wrote  a  stiff  explanatory  note  suggesting  that  Jerry's  mid- 
night chase  should  be  treated  as  a  nightmare  due  to  turkey 
and  ham,  and  sent  it  over  to  Government  House.  Yet, 
before  doing  so,  he  fumigated  it  carefully  with  tobacco, 
feeling  the  while  a  trifle  ashamed  of  his  own  smile  at 
the  remembrance  of  those  green  sleeves. 

But  the  wearer  of  them,  restored  to  the  dignity  of  a 
tailor-made  coat  and  skirt,  receiving  the  note  while  the 
tell-tale  odour  was  still  fresh  on  it  —  for  she  had  found 
sleep  impossible — frowned  at  the  recollection  of  the  figure 
in  the  political  uniform  which  had  refused  even  to  touch 
those  green  sleeves.  Frowned,  not  from  displeasure, 
but  from  impatience  at  her  own  sense  of  pleasure  in  his 
thoughtfulness ;  for  it  was  unfamiliar  to  her,  that  sense 
of  rest  in  another  person's  care. 

Treat  it  as  a  nightmare !  Of  course  !  How  else  could 
one  treat  that  wild  medley  of  green  sleeves,  political  uni- 
forms, ghosts,  boys,  valses  a  deux  tejjips,  Jan-Ali-shans  ! 

Only,  no  sane  person  would  ever  dream  of  dreaming 
such  nonsense ! 

And  yet,  what  was  this  unfamiliar  tingle  to  her  finger- 
tips, this  curious  elation,  this  sense  of  personal  gain,  as 
if  she  had  found  something  new  and  precious  —  as  if  a 
child,  idly  unfolding  a  flower-bud,  had  found  a  fairy  at 
its  heart  .■* 

She  turned  from  this  fancy  still  more  impatiently, 
resolving  to  set  the  whole  incident  aside.  But  this,  she 
soon  found,  was  quite  impossible.  That  secret  between 
her  and  Jack  Raymond  was  inexorable  in  its  claims. 
For  instance,  though  the  chance  of  any  consequence 
to  him  was,  she  knew,  small,  she  could  not  avoid  watch- 
ing for  his  figure  to  show  in  its  usual  haunts,  listening 
if   his  name  came  up  in  conversation.     Neither  could 


THE   RAM  RUCK  I  235 

she  avoid  relief  at  the  certainty  that  nothing  evil  had 
befallen  him.  That,  of  course,  was  only  natural ;  but 
it  was  intolerable  that  the  relief  should  make  her  blush ! 
Most  intolerable  of  all  when  he  noticed  it  and  said,  with 
a  smile  — 

"  No  such  luck  for  my  friends,  Miss  Drummond  !  " 

This  happened  at  a  tea-picnic  which  Lady  Arbuthnot 
gave  a  day  or  two  after  the  ball.  More  than  one  person 
had  remarked  to  her  on  Jack  Raymond's  failure  to  put 
in  an  appearance.  It  was  growing  late.  She  was  con- 
scious of  her  own  anxiety.  And  then,  in  a  sudden  surge, 
the  blood  flew  to  her  face  at  the  sight  of  him,  close  beside 
her,  shaking  hands  with  his  hostess. 

"  What  is  the  joke,  Lesley  }  "  asked  Grace  Arbuthnot 
quickly,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

Once  again  Jack  Raymond  answered  for  her ;  an- 
swered audaciously. 

"  A  dead  secret,  even  from  Lady  Arbuthnot,  is  it  not. 
Miss  Drummond  ? " 

"  I  would  rather  it  was  not,"  she  replied,  turning  away 
resentfully  to  wander  off  by  herself  into  the  garden 
where  the  tea-picnic  was  being  given ;  a  garden  which 
had  been  the  "Petit  Trianon"  of  the  dead  dynasty. 

It  was  a  quaint  place,  tucked  away  between  two 
angles  of  the  city  wall  for  greater  convenience  in  se- 
cret comings  and  goings  to  secret  pleasures ;  and  it  was 
all  the  quainter  now  because  of  the  Englishwomen  sip- 
ping tea  on  the  steps  of  the  gilded  summer-house,  the 
Englishmen  calling  tennis  scores  in  what  had  been  the 
rose-water  tank,  in  which  kings'  favourites  had  bathed, 
and  on  which  they  had  floated  in  silver  barges.  The  feel- 
ing of  mutual  incredibility,  which  in  India  comes  so  often 
to  all  but  the  unimaginative,  came  to  Lesley,  as  she 
thought  of  the  city  so  close  behind  the  fringe  of  tall 
blossoming  trees,  yet  so  absolutely  hidden  by  it. 

Within  half  a  mile  of  her  lay  the  courtyard  where 
Auntie  Khojee  was  starving  herself  in  the  effort  to  get 
money  wherewith  to  buy  the  essence  of  happiness ; 
within  half  a  mile  of  her  Leteefa's  kite,  overlooked  in 


236  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

the  tornado  of  wrath  which  had  followed  on  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  ring,  still  tilted  to  leeward  under  the 
burden  of  sovereignty.  But  of  all  this  —  of  the  romance, 
the  squalor,  the  humanity  of  the  lives  lived  in  the  city 
—  she  knew  nothing,  except  her  own  ignorance  of  those 
lives.  That,  and  that  only,  was  with  her  in  the  beauty 
of  the  garden  ;  the  beauty  which  was,  as  it  were,  the 
only  thing  that  she  and  the  unseen  city  had  in  common. 

And  it  was  beautiful,  bosomed  in  those  blossoming 
trees  that  shut  out  the  world,  shut  in  the  scent  of  the 
flowers.  It  appealed  instantly  to  something  deep  down  in 
her  woman's  nature  ;  for  this  had  been  a  woman's  garden  ! 

The  remembrance  made  her  recoil  spiritually.  Partly 
from  the  thought  of  what  the  garden  must  have  seen  in 
the  past,  partly  from  the  mere  suggestion  that  it  could 
appeal  to  anything  in  Jier.  She  walked  on  quickly, 
recoiling  bodily,  as  she  did  so,  from  an  overgrown  rose- 
shoot  which  usurped  the  path.  In  so  doing  she  dis- 
played frills  and  flounces,  a  pair  of  dainty  open-worked 
stockings  and  high-heeled  shoes.  But  she  did  not  recoil 
from  the  sight  of  these.  Despite  her  views,  despite  her 
modern  girl's  theoretical  contempt  for  chiffons,  and  dis- 
dain for  women  whose  lives  are  bounded  by  the  becom- 
ing, she  was  not  one  whit  more  logical  on  such  points 
than  her  grandmothers  had  been.  She  had  not  thought 
out  the  real  meaning  of  her  frills  and  furbelows,  or 
confessed  to  herself  that  such  feminine  footgear  belongs 
inevitably  to  the  path  which  leads  to  the  ^' Petit  Trianon  " 
of  life. 

Above  all,  she  had  not  seen,  as  women  must  see 
before  they  become  a  power  in  the  world,  that  the 
one  point  on  which  all  races  meet,  no  matter  what  their 
religion,  no  matter  what  their  ideals,  no  matter  what 
their  standard  of  morality,  is  that  which  makes  ''Petit 
Ti'ianon''  possible.  In  other  words,  the  woman's  atti- 
tude towards  the  man ;  an  attitude  so  strangely  at  vari- 
ance with  the  sex-laws  of  nature. 

Yet  of  the  beauty  of  this  garden  who  could  doubt. 
Within  that  fringe  of  blossoming  trees,  a  wide  aqueduct 


THE  RAM  RUCK  I  237 

—  like  a  shining  cross  —  lay,  edged  by  mosaicked  mar- 
ble causeways,  that  were  raised  above  and  in  their  turn 
edged  by  a  perfect  wilderness  of  flowers.  And  this 
wider  cross,  composed  of  flowers,  mosaic,  water,  was 
set  in  dense  thickets  of  oranges  and  pomegranates.  In 
this  late  afternoon  all  the  sunshine  seemed  concentrated 
in  the  cross.  Great  shafts  of  yellow  hght  streamed 
down  its  limbs,  seeming  to  darken  all  the  rest.  In  the 
centre  where  the  limbs  met,  a  group  of  fountains  sent 
fine  feathers  into  the  air,  and  through  their  sparkle  the 
gold  and  marble  of  the  summer-house  gleamed  amid  its 
sentinels  of  cypress,  at  the  far  end  of  the  garden.  There 
was  a  cloying  sweetness  in  the  air.  A  flight  of  jewelled 
parrots  flew  screaming  from  one  screen  of  flowering  trees 
to  the  other,  as  if  even  they  —  winged  creatures  as  they 
were  —  could  not  escape  the  thraldom  of  those  high 
walls,  hidden  by  leaf  and  blossom. 

That  sense  of  prisonment  —  the  prisonment  of  pleasure 

—  lay  heavy  on  Lesley  as  she  paused,  half-unconsciously, 
before  a  tiny  latticed  retreat  —  the  daintiest  little  retreat 
in  the  world  —  which,  just  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
shining  cross  from  the  gilt  summer-house,  rose  out  of  the 
water.  Made  of  marble  fretwork,  with  a  domed  top,  it 
looked  like  a  lace  veil  moulded  into  the  form  of  singing- 
bird's  cage  ;  and  its  latticed  seclusion  was  only  connected 
with  the  causeway  on  either  side  of  it  by  a  foot-wide 
ledge  of  mosaic. 

Lesley,  having  been  in  the  garden  before,  knew  the 
purpose  this  retreat  had  served  in  the  past,  and  her 
involuntary  pause  beside  it  prolonged  itself  in  half- 
disdainful  wonder.  For  this  had  been  the  sanctuary. 
Here  had  been  refuge  even  from  the  pleasures  of  the 
garden,  and  hither,  if  any  woman,  high  or  low,  chose  to 
appeal  for  redress,  majesty  itself  had  been  bound  to 
come  and  listen,  leaving  majesty  and  manhood  behind  it. 

That,  at  least,  was  the  idea.  The  retreat  itself  was 
more  suggestive  of  beauty  gaining  in  power  by  seclusion  ; 
and  Lesley's  lip  curled  with  more  disdain  as  she  looked 
at  the  finnikin  filagree  cage. 


238  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

Her  expression,  however,  changed  to  curiosity  as  she 
realised  that  some  one  was  sitting  inside  it.  She  crossed 
the  ledge  of  mosaic  swiftly,  and,  stooping  under  the 
laced  edge  of  a  low  arch,  went  in. 

It  was  not  beauty  that  she  found.  It  was  a  wrinkled 
anxious-faced  old  woman,  who  rose  in  a  salaam,  then 
literally  prostrated  herself  at  the  girl's  feet.  Lesley  had 
been  long  enough  in  India,  now,  to  judge  rightly  of  the 
poverty  shown  in  the  dress.  The  blue-striped  trousers, 
tight  to  the  knee  and  full  above,  the  short  whitey-brown 
cotton  veil  were  to  be  seen  —  more  or  less  dirty,  more 
or  less  ragged  —  in  every  poor  Mohammedan  quarter. 
Yet  there  was  something  refined  in  the  worn  face,  blurred 
with  recent  tears,  which  looked  into  hers  apprehensively, 
as  the  owner  rose  to  salaam  again,  leaving  a  small  roll 
of  paper  bound  with  coloured  silks  upon  the  marble 
floor. 

Lesley  was  puzzled  for  an  instant ;  then  it  flashed 
upon  her  that  this  must  be  some  belated  petitioner  for 
justice  in  the  old  style,  who  had  heard,  probably,  that  the 
'L.oxd.-saJiib  was  in  the  garden.  Such  rolls  of  paper  — 
without  the  silken  tie,  however  —  were  often  thrust  into 
the  carriage  when  Sir  George  was  in  it. 

So  she  hunted  round  her  sparse  vocabulary,  but  finally 
fell  back  on  the  first  phrase  most  newcomers  to  India 
learn,  namely,  ''Kya  mankta  ?  "  (What  do  you  want .'') 

It  is  an  admirable  beginning,  though,  unfortunately, 
the  sympathetic  curiosity  of  it  seldom  becomes  imper- 
sonal to  the  speaker  !  It  produced  another  salaam,  and 
such  a  flood  of  polished  speech  that  Lesley  retired  to 
English  incontinently.  "Is  it  for  the  'L.oxd.-saJiibf 
she  asked  hurriedly,  picking  up  the  roll  and  pointing 
with  it  to  the  distant  summer-house. 

The  title  produced  a  fourth  salaam,  and  Lesley,  with 
some  relief,  stooped  under  the  fretted  arch  again,  and 
began  to  retrace  her  steps  towards  the  others. 

Sir  George,  she  knew,  had  been  doubtful  if  business 
would  allow  him  to  put  in  an  appearance  at  the  enter- 
tainment at  all ;  but  some  one  would  be  sure  to  know 


THE  RAM  RUCKI  239 

what  message  ought  to  be  sent  back  to  the  petitioner, 
who,  as  Lesley  left  the  bird-cage,  settled  herself  down 
in  it  again  to  wait,  with  great  precision. 

"  Read  it,  some  one,  please !  "  said  Lady  Arbuthnot, 
after  she  had  undone  the  quaint  little  tasselled  silk  cord 
which  was  fastened  with  a  loop  and  button  round  the 
roll  of  paper. 

But  the  order  was  no  such  easy  matter  to  obey.  So 
far  as  the  conventional  ''Arz  fidzve yiJi  Jiai''  (This  is  the 
request  of  your  petitioner)  went,  the  little  group  of 
administrators  who  responded  to  her  request  were  fluent 
enough.  After  that  came  complaints  of  the  character, 
and  more  than  one  suggestion  that  only  a  regular  native 
reader  could  be  expected  to  decipher  such  writing,  and 
that  it  would  be  best  to  hand  the  document  over  to  the 
office,  which  would  be  sure  to  make  something  of  it.  A 
remark  which  made  Lesley,  who  was  listening,  wonder 
whether  the  accuracy  of  that  something  was  to  be  con- 
sidered at  all ! 

Grace  Arbuthnot,  however,  listening  also,  let  a  curious 
smile  come  to  her  face ;  a  smile  that  gave  it  an  un- 
usual tenderness.  "  Where  is  Mr.  Raymond  .-*  "  she  said 
suddenly.  "  Going,  did  you  say }  Will  some  one  call 
him  back,  please  !  " 

He  appeared,  ready  for  his  drive  home  in  rather  a 
violent  blazer,  and  once  more  there  was  that  unfailing 
challenge  in  his  polite  —  "They  tell  me  I  am  wanted, 
Lady  Arbuthnot  .-• " 

"Yes!  to  read  this,"  she  replied,  holding  out  the 
hieroglyphic. 

In  all  her  life  of  beauty  and  grace  she  had  possibly 
never  looked  more  beautiful,  more  graceful,  and  Jack 
Raymond  realised  it ;  realised  also  that,  so  far  as  that 
beauty,  that  grace  were  concerned,  he  had  not  forgotten 
—  that  he  would  never  forget !  And  the  certainty 
roused  all  his  antagonism.  For  a  moment  he  stood  like 
a  naughty  child  refusing  to  say  its  lesson ;  then  he  took 
the  paper  from  her,  and  ran  his  eye  down  it. 

"  Persian,"  he  said.     "  I  had  better  give  you  the  gist 


240  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

of  it.  The  writer  is  one  Khojeeya  Khanum,  a  pensioner. 
The  Nawab  Jehan  Aziz  is  her  representative ;  he  seems 
to  have  been  taking  toll,  as  they  always  do  —  it  is  mad- 
ness paying  pensions  in  the  lump,  as  we  do.  She  is  starv- 
ing, I  suppose;  they  generally  are!  No"  —  a  faint 
interest  dispersed  some  of  the  contempt  in  his  face  — 
"it  seems  she  wants  money  for  a  specific  purpose  —  to 
buy  the  '  essence  of  happiness.'  That  word  is  itr-i-khtish, 
isn't  it,  sir  .?  " 

The  commissioner,  thus  appealed  to  —  a  man  who 
was  seldom  in  fault  in  speaking  the  vernaculars  — 
frowned  over  the  symbol. 

^^It7'-i-khusJi,  'm,  it  may  be.  But  it  doesn't  matter, 
since  it  is  money  she  wants !  I've  had  one  or  two  com- 
plaints about  that  sweep  Jehan  Aziz's  pensioners  already. 
Lady  Arbuthnot,  and  we  are  going  to  inquire.  So  I'll 
put  this  one's  name  down  too,  if  I  may.  Khojeeya 
Khanum  —  thanks.  Well,  good-night,  Lady  Arbuthnot ! 
I've  a  reader  with  a  file  yards  high  waiting  me  —  most 
important  papers.  Good-night,  Raymond  ;  you  haven't 
forgotten  the  trick,  I  see.  You  are  still  as  good  a 
moonshi  as  ever,  isn't  he.  Lady  Arbuthnot } " 

"  Except  in  regard  to  the  '  Essence  of  Happiness,'  " 
she  replied  coolly,  making  Jack  Raymond  stare  at  her, 
and  Lesley  once  more  become  impatient. 

"  But  the  old  woman  is  waiting,"  she  interrupted, 
"  she  is  waiting  for  an  answer  in  the  bird-cage ;  surely 
some  one  ought  to  go  and  tell  her  something ! " 

Several  of  the  guests  had  taken  advantage  of  the 
commissioner's  departure  to  say  their  farewells  also,  so 
that  those  three  were  left  in  a  group  by  themselves. 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Grace  suddenly,  "if  Mr.  Raymond 
can  spare  time  from  his  whist — " 

"To  find  happiness,"  he  put  in  quickly,  "by  all 
means !  " 

The  mosaic  causeway  was  narrow,  so  Lesley  fell 
behind.  The  shining  limb  of  the  water-cross  lay  to  one 
side  of  her,  the  edge  of  massed  flowers  to  the  other. 
The  sky  was  deepening  in  its  blue  overhead,  the  creep- 


THE  RAM  RUCK  I  24 1 

ing  shadows  below  had  gripped  the  lace  bird-cage  in  the 
distance,  making  it  look  cold  and  grey.  But  the  sun 
which  caught  the  tops  of  the  blossoming  trees  and  made 
the  painted  kites  that  floated  above  them  from  the  city- 
look  like  jewels,  seemed  to  linger  mysteriously  in  the 
soft  pink  of  Grace  Arbuthnot's  dress,  the  gay  orange 
and  yellow  of  Jack  Raymond's  blazer,  and  claim  them 
as  part  of  its  brightness. 

In  the  hush  of  evening,  the  insistent  "  Do-you-love-too 
—  do-you-love-too  "  of  one  small  cinnamon  dove  hidden 
in  a  rose-bush,  seemed  to  fill  the  garden.  Until  from 
beyond  it  came  some  gay  voices  discussing  the  "  Essence 
of  Happiness  "  as  the  departing  guests  got  into  their 
carriages. 

"  Take  your  choice  of  the  four  W's ! "  said  one ; 
"  wisdom,  wine,  wealth,  women  !  " 

"  I  choose  a  whisky-and-soda,"  retorted  another.  "  I 
give  you  in  the  rest,  especially  after  tennis.  By  Jove ! 
that  was  a  splendid  game." 

"  Four  W's  !  "  put  in  a  higher  key.  "  You've  forgot- 
ten Worth  —  oh!  I  don't  mean  that  worth,  of  course. 
The  dressmaker  man  —  " 

"Ye  don't  need  his  art,  me  dear  lady  —  " 

Lesley,  walking  behind  those  two,  paused  suddenly ; 
for  Jack  Raymond  had  lingered  to  hold  back  that  trail- 
ing rose-shoot  from  hei^  frills  and  flounces  also.  And 
the  cinnamon  dove,  startled  by  the  pause,  fled  from  the 
rose-bush  to  silence  and  deeper  shade.  Its  flight  made 
her  start  also. 

"  Frightened  at  a  dove ! "  said  Jack  Raymond  in  a 
low  tone,  "and  you  weren't  a  bit  frightened  at  the 
plague." 

He  was  smiling  at  her,  his  face  all  soft  and  kind. 
She  had  never  seen  it  like  that  before.  But  as  he 
stepped  back  to  Grace  Arbuthnot's  side,  Lesley  realised 
that  she  had. 

The  certainty  that  these  two  had  been  lovers  once 
came  to  her  then,  and  brought  a  curious  sense  of  loneli- 
ness.    The  certainty  that,  in  a  way,  they  would  be  lovers 


242  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

always,  brought  her  a  pang  before  which  she  stood 
aghast.  For  there  was  no  mistaking  it ;  it  was  unrea- 
sonable, elemental  jealousy. 

She  felt  inclined,  then  and  there,  to  turn  back  and 
leave  them  to  do  their  task  alone.  They  did  not  want 
her.  What  was  she,  Lesley  Drummond,  doing  there  in 
that  garden  whose  suggestiveness  seemed  to  stifle  her .? 
Yes  !  to  stifle  her,  because  she  could  not  escape  from  it ! 
She,  Lesley  Drummond,  who  —  In  her  mind's  eye  she 
saw  a  vision  of  herself  alighting  from  an  omnibus  at  the 
corner  of  Bond  Street  on  a  wet  day,  picking  her  way 
over  the  greasy  blister-marks  of  many  feet  on  the  pave- 
ment, heedless  of  the  infinite  suggestions  in  the  shop 
Avindows,  to  have  tea  at  a  ladies'-club  with  an  intimate 
friend,  and  solve  the  problems  of  life  by  hard  and  fast 
individualism  tempered  by  a  sloppy  socialism. 

Solve !  As  if  it  were  possible  to  solve  anything  in 
those  conditions.  Above  all,  to  solve  the  greatest  prob- 
lem in  the  world  for  women,  as  you  drank  your  tea  on 
a  table  littered  with  the  literature  of  c/iiffon-c\\\X.\.\xQ, 
whose  every  page  proclaimed  that  woman's  aim  was  to 
remain  temptress,  her  goal  a  garden  such  as  this ! 

They  were  close  to  the  sanctuary  now.  The  others 
had  entered  it,  and  Lesley  paused  to  look  contemptu- 
ously at  its  filagree  pretence  of  protection  ere  she,  too, 
stooped  under  its  low  arch. 

"  I  think  you  have  it,  haven't  you,  Lesley  .■' "  asked 
Grace  Arbuthnot,  as  she  entered  to  find  a  puzzled  look 
on  all  three  faces.  In  the  old  woman's  it  was  mixed 
with  a  half-indignant  apprehension. 

"Have  what.''"  she  asked  coldly. 

"The  silk  cord  that  was  round  the  roll;  I  gave  it  to 
you  to  hold,  I  think.  She  won't  speak  without  it ;  it 
seems  it  is  a  bracelet  —  an  amulet." 

"  The  bracelet  of  brotherhood  without  which  a  woman 
cannot  speak  to  a  strange  man,"  explained  Jack  Ray- 
mond.    "  Ah  !  you  are  wearing  it." 

She  was.  Quite  idly  she  had  fastened  it  by  its  loop 
and  button  round  her  wrist,  in  order  to  keep  it  safe, 


THE  RAM  RUCKI  243 

She  took  it  off  now,  and  handed  it  to  him  without  a 
word.  He  passed  it  to  Auntie  Khojee,  whose  withered 
face  settled  into  self-satisfaction  as  she  leant  forward, 
detaining  his  hand  till  the  bracelet  was  safely  looped 
on  his  brown  wrist. 

Then  the  words  came  fast.  Floods  of  them ;  and 
Jack  Raymond  listened  patiently. 

Fine  though  the  filagree  of  marble  was  that  shut  them 
off  from  the  garden,  it  interrupted  the  light,  so  that 
their  figures  showed  dimly  to  each  other.  But  the 
scent  of  the  garden  drifted  in  unchecked,  and  mixed 
with  the  faint  scent  of  heliotrope  from  Grace  Arbuth- 
not's  dress.  There  was  something  breathless,  disturb- 
ing to  the  senses,  Lesley  felt,  in  that  uncomprehending 
effort  to  understand.  It  was  a  relief  when  silence  fell 
suddenly,  and  there  was  a  pause. 

"  Is  that  all  .-• "  whispered  Grace ;  she  was  next  to 
Jack  Raymond,  her  dress  touching  him. 

"  I  believe  I  ought  to  give  her  a  bracelet  in  return," 
he  began.  She  had  one  of  her  gold  bangles  off  in  a 
moment,  and  was  thrusting  it  into  his  hand  —  "Take 
that,  please  do  — you  might  let  me  do  so  much  surely  —  " 

Lesley  turned  and  stepped  outside.  She  felt  the  need 
of  fresh  air. 

"There  was  no  use  my  stopping,"  she  explained 
when,  after  an  interval,  the  two  rejoined  her.  "  I  could 
not  understand." 

"Not  understand!"  echoed  Grace  Arbuthnot  re- 
proachfully. "  I  couldn't  understand  the  words  either. 
But  I  thought  the  idea  perfectly  charming.  I  wouldn't 
have  missed  the  little  scene  for  worlds.  And  she  was 
so  delighted  with  the  gold  bangle." 

"  It  is  really  not  uncommon.  Lady  Arbuthnot,"  pro- 
tested Jack  Raymond,  who  was  beginning  to  feel  a 
trifle  restive  again.  "  And  in  the  old  days,  the  ram 
riicki  was  constantly  sent  by  distressed — " 

"  I  know,"  interrupted  Lesley  captiously.  "  You  read 
of  it  in  Meadows  Taylor's  books.  But  why  did  she 
give  it  to  you  }  " 


244  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

He  paused ;  a  quick  annoyance  showed  on  his  face ; 
he  turned  to  Lady  Arbuthnot  vexedly. 

"  I  must  apologise,"  he  said ;  "  I  never  realised  till 
this  moment  that  she  must  have  taken  me  — " 

"  For  Sir  George,"  put  in  Grace  quietly.  "  Didn't 
you  ?  Now  I  was  thinking  all  the  time  how  much 
better  you  played  the  part  than  he  would  have  done. 
He  is  like  Lesley.  He  loathes  sentiment.  No,  Mr. 
Raymond,  I  won't  take  it ! "  she  added,  as  he  tried 
to  unfasten  the  rcim  rncki.  "  Give  it  to  Sir  George  him- 
self, if  you  like  —  there  he  is  coming  to  meet  us.  Or," 
she  continued,  with  an  elusive,  almost  mischievous  smile, 
as  she  went  forward  to  greet  her  husband,  leaving  those 
two  on  the  path  together,  "  give  it  back  to  Miss  Drum- 
mond  !     She  gave  it  you  first !  " 

Jack  Raymond  looked  after  her  quite  angrily ;  then 
laughed,  drew  out  his  pocket-book  and  laid  the  ram 
riicki  between  the  folds  of  some  bank-notes. 

"  I  shall  end  by  doing  my  duty  some  day,  if  this 
goes  on,  Miss  Drummond,"  he  said  resignedly.  "It  is 
really  very  kind  of  you  all  to  take  so  much  interest  in 
my  spiritual  and  bodily  welfare." 

As  a  rule  Lesley  would  have  been  ready  with  a  sharp 
retort.  Now  she  was  silent.  She  was  thinking  that 
it  was  true.  She  had  given  the  bracelet  of  brotherhood 
to  him  first.  And  then  once  more  a  vast  impatience 
seized  her.  How  unreal,  how  fantastic  it  was.  How 
far  removed  from  the  security  of  the  commonplace. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    PRISON    OF    LIFE 

To  old  Auntie  Khojee,  however,  the  incident  which 
Lesley  had  stigmatised  as  unreal,  and  fantastic,  was 
quite  natural.  Her  life,  and  the  lives  of  thousands  such 
as  she,  dreary,  dull,  squalid,  as  they  seem  to  the  eyes 
of  Western  women,  are  yet  leavened  by  many  wholly 
unpractical  touches  which  raise  them  at  times  to  pure 
romance.  The  secret  worship  of  the  Gods,  the  thousand 
and  one  omens  to  be  sought,  or  avoided,  the  endless 
fanciful  ceremonials ;  all  these  are,  in  their  monotonous 
lives,  witnessing  to  the  passion  for  self-effacement  in 
something  beyond  the  woman's  own  individuality  —  in 
something  that  has  to  be  cajoled  and  considered,  not 
because  it  is  feared,  but  because  it  is  loved  and  must 
therefore  be  tied  to  the  apron-string  —  which  is  Eve's 
legacy  to  women  of  all  races  and  all  creeds. 

So,  as  the  old  lady  limped  through  the  bazaars,  hud- 
dled up  in  a  dirty  domino,  with  Grace  Arbuthnot's 
bangle  clutched  close  to  her  heart,  she  felt  no  surprise 
at  what  had  happened.  Her  only  feeling  was  one  of 
regret  for  having  so  long  believed  folk's  tales  of  change. 
If  she  had  only  resorted  earlier  to  ancient  methods,  little 
Sa'adut's  life  might  perhaps  have  been  spared.  Though 
that,  of  course,  was  God's  will;  just  as  it  was  His  will 
also  at  the  very  last  gasp  she  should  have  been  told  by 
a  gossip  that  the  "Lordi-sahib  was  coming,  as  the  Kings 
came  in  past  times  to  entertain  their  friends  in  the 
pleasure-garden. 

For  Khojee  was,  literally,  at  the  last  gasp.  Even 
Lateefa  had  not  been  near  the  courtyard  for  three  days, 
though  he  had  promised  to  look  in  every  morning.  In 
truth,  this  was  not  the  kite-maker's  fault,  since  he  was, 

245 


246  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

once  more,  kicking  his  heels  in  the  lock-up.  He  had 
not  anticipated  this  result  when  —  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment  —  he  had  slipped  the  ring,  instead  of  a  morsel 
of  brick,  into  one  of  the  tiny  calico  bags  which  he  had 
found  the  easiest  way  of  attaching  ballast  to  his  kites. 
It  had  been  but  the  work  of  a  second  to  do  this,  and 
send  the  kite  up  to  hover  in  the  steady  west  wind  —  on 
trial  —  with  its  string  attached  to  one  of  the  wooden 
pegs  driven  for  that  purpose  into  the  brick  wall.  So 
he  had  had  no  time  for  full  consideration ;  but  even  had 
he  had  this,  he  would  scarcely  have  imagined  that  Jehan 
would  at  once  take  the  irrevocable  step  of  calling  in  the 
aid  of  the  police ;  that  being  a  course  which  no  wise 
man  adopted  save  as  a  last  resort,  when  the  choice  only 
lay  between  two  evils. 

But  Jehan's  rage  had  mastered  his  caution.  The  loss 
of  the  symbol  of  past  power  had  raised  such  a  tempest 
of  desire  for  that  power  of  personal  coercion,  that,  see- 
ing no  other  means  of  gaining  it,  he  had  at  once  given 
not  only  Lateefa,  but  Burkut  Ali  in  charge  for  having, 
between  them,  stolen  the  ring.  And  that  despite  the 
voluntary  demonstration  of  innocence  afforded  by  a 
stripping  to  stark  nakedness  of  both  the  accused  !  They 
must,  he  shrilled,  have  swallowed  it ! 

Dire  suggestion  to  an  executive  whose  chief  method 
of  detecting  crime  is  by  personal  discomfort  to  the  fourth 
and  fifth  generation  of  those  presumably  implicated  in 
it !  Lateefa  had  felt  his  liver  dissolve,  had  for  one  brief 
moment  thought  of  confession ;  but  the  presence  of  the 
police,  he  saw,  would  make  that  a  leaving  of  the  frying- 
pan  for  the  fire. 

So  he  and  Burkut  Ali,  the  latter  vowing  vengeance 
calmly  (and  knowing  he  would  get  it  too,  since  he  had 
money  and  Jehan  had  none),  were  hauled  away,  not  to 
judgment,  but  to  that  worse  evil,  preliminary  inquiry. 

Burkut,  however,  had  found  bail ;  and  he  had  been 
back  in  his  haunts  for  two  days,  making  Jehan  begin  to 
see  his  mistake,  while  Lateefa,  very  sick  and  sorry  for 
himself,  still  remained  in  process  of  observation. 


THE  PRISON  OF  LIFE  247 

But  by  this  time  his  philosophy  had  returned,  and,  as 
he  kicked  his  heels,  he  composed  another  mathematical 
verselet  which  should  equal  the  values  of  "  I,  Lateefa, 
laid  on  nothingness  the  burden  of  all  things,  and  the 
burden  of  all  things  made  nothingness  of  Lateefa !  " 

Of  all  this,  however.  Auntie  Khojee  knew  nothing  as 
she  made  her  way  straight  to  the  pawnbroker's  where 
she  had  pledged  Khadeeja  Khanum's  best  pink  satin 
trousers.  For  the  recovery  of  these  was  the  first  neces- 
sity. On  the  morrow  ceremonial  visits  of  condolence 
would  begin  in  the  wide  courtyard,  and  she  dared  not 
ask  Khadjee  to  receive  them  in  her  ordinary  attire. 

Grace  Arbuthnot's  bangle  would,  of  course,  redeem 
the  trousers  over  and  over  again ;  but  the  old  lady 
decided  this  should  only  be  left,  in  exchange,  for  one 
night,  as  it  would  be  easy  to  return  the  garment  after 
the  morrow's  visits  were  over ;  since  there  would  be  no 
more  need  for  it  for  at  least  three  days.  And  that 
would  set  the  bangle  free  for  its  legitimate  purchase  of 
the  "  Essence  of  Happiness." 

It  was  growing  dark  as  she  limped  along  the  narrow 
bazaar.  The  cavernous  shops  on  either  side  were  but 
half  lit  with  flaring  rushlights.  The  continuous  stream 
of  people  passing  one  way  or  the  other  seemed  inevita- 
bly to  thrust  her  furtive  swathed  figure  into  the  gutter. 
And  so,  at  one  shop,  round  which  a  crowd  had  gathered, 
it  needed  patience  before  a  way  could  be  edged  onwards. 
It  w^as  a  drug  shop,  and  it  seemed  to  be  driving  a  roar- 
ing trade.  As  a  couple  of  white-robed  men  elbowed 
past  her,  she  heard  one  say,  with  a  sinister  satisfac- 
tion— 

"  And  our  Somaj  dispensary  hath  trebled  its  attend- 
ance these  last  days.  The  people  know  their  friends, 
know  themselves  safe !  Not  that  the  tales  of  poison  at 
the  hospitals  are  true  ;  but  what  will  you  .-'  These  poor 
folks  arc  ignorant,  and  we  have  promised  —  " 

What  the  promise  was,  Khojee  did  not  catch  ;  nor  did 
she  care  to  know.  All  her  thoughts  were  with  Khadjee's 
pink  satin  trousers.     Therefore  she  felt  as  if  the  whole 


248  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

round  world  had  slipped  from  under  her  feet  when 
Mittun,  the  pawnbroker,  from  the  midst  of  the  miscel- 
laneous collection  of  rubbish  in  which  he  sat  like  a  tame 
magpie  possessed  by  the  nest-building  instinct,  told  her 
calmly  that  he  had  just  sold  them !  Sold  them  at  an 
incredibly  high  price  to  a  lady  of  the  bazaar  who  was  in 
a  hurry  for  something  smart  in  which  to  appear  at  an 
assignation  that  evening.  And  then,  with  infinite  self- 
complacency,  he  drew  out  from  a  bag  two  rupees  and 
some  pice. 

"  See  this,  mother !  "  he  said,  handing  her  the  money. 
"  'Tis  a  chance  such  as  comes  but  once  in  a  kobari's,  life, 
who  must  needs  fill  his  belly  a  many  times  with  other 
folk's  leavings  ere  he  find  a  grain  of  corn  to  stay  his 
own  hunger  withal."  Here  he  looked  round  distaste- 
fully at  the  old  lamps,  keys,  pickle-bottles,  rags,  books 
—  Heaven  knows  what  —  that  made  up  his  stock-in- 
trade,  and  which,  in  truth,  looked  but  indigestible  fare. 
"  Yet  I  am  honest,"  he  went  on ;  "  this  much  I  made, 
over  and  above  what  I  loaned  thee  on  them.  So  there 
'tis,  with  but  the  due  interest  held  back.  Let  none  say 
Mittun,  kobari,  is  no  honest  man,  who  cares  not  for  his 
customers  —  " 

"  Nay  !  meean-jee,"  fluttered  Khojee,  helpless.  "  None 
said  that  of  thee.  Yet  would  I  rather  the  trousers,  and 
I  could  have  given  thee  gold." 

Mittun  eyed  the  bangle  covetously.  "  Give  it  to  me 
now,  mother.  I  could  loan  thee  ten  rupees  on  that  to 
buy  new  trousering." 

Khojee  shook  her  head  timidly ;  for  even  the  pawn- 
broker, being  a  man,  had  authority. 

"  'Tis  for  to-morrow,  brother  ;  there  is  not  time  —  " 

"  Thou  couldst  buy  second-hand,"  he  persisted ; 
"  there  be  many  in  the  bazaar,  though  I  have  them  not. 
In  truth,  Mjissumat  Khojee,  I  would  have  sold  thine  for 
less  than  I  got,  seeing  that  old  clothes  are  no  safe  pur- 
chase nowadays,  what  with  police  inspection,  and  no 
rags  here,  no  rags  there !  As  if  the  plague  came  in 
aught  but  God's  will ! " 


THE  PRISON  OF  LIFE  249 

Khojee,  fearful  of  persuasion,  assented  hastily  to  the 
pawnbroker's  piety.  Everything  was  God's  will ;  even 
her  failure  to  redeem  the  pink  satin  trousers ! 

"  I  will  give  thee  fifteen  for  the  bangle,"  called 
Mittun  after  her,  and  she  quickened  her  limp  from  the 
temptation.  The  bangle  was  for  another  purpose. 
Still  fifteen  rupees  would  purchase  the  "  Essence  of 
Happiness  "  and  leave  a  margin  for  sagou  dana  (sago) 
and  salcp  viisri.  Also  for  real  cardamoms.  Yes ! 
surely  with  fifteen  rupees  in  prospect  she  might  afford 
herself  some  real  cardamoms  for  to-morrow's  assem- 
blage, instead  of  the  cheaper  kind  she  had  laid  in.  It 
would  give  style  to  the  occasion,  even  if  the  pink  satin 
trousers  were  unattainable. 

Another  crowd,  before  a  shop,  delayed  her  as  she 
limped  along  in  the  gutter.  There  was  a  policeman  in 
it  this  time,  and  a  voice  protesting  that  it  was  tyranny. 
What  had  the  police  to  do  with  the  selling  of  a  quilt  — 
a  quilt  that  was  no  longer  wanted,  seeing  that  the 
grandfather  had  found  freedom  .'' 

"yj;7,  idiot!"  said  the  policeman,  "have  a  care  I  do 
not  burn  it." 

"  Give  him  his  percentage,  brother  !  "  advised  Govind 
the  editor,  who,  as  usual,  was  hunting  the  bazaars  for 
news.  "  That  is  what  he  wants.  That  is  the  trick. 
Yea !  I  know.  Give  it  him,  or  he  will  claim  the  whole 
in  the  name  of  the  jjlague.  That  is  what  the  Sirkar 
does  in  Bombay.  It  claims  all  —  money,  jewels,  clothes. 
And  it  will  do  the  same  here.  This  is  but  the  begin- 
ning." 

"  'Twill  be  the  end  for  thee  and  thy  paper,  editor- 
jef,  if  thou  tellest  more  lies,"  retorted  the  constable  in 
righteous  indignation.  "  It  is  orders,  I  tell  thee  !  There 
is  suspicion  that  some  one  —  " 

Govind,  who,  as  usual,  also  had  been  at  the  bhang 
shop,  gave  a  jeering  laugh.  ^'Bapree  bap  !  some  one ! 
'Tis  always  some  one  or  sonic  thing ;  but  we  of  Nusha- 
pore,  my  masters,  will  show  them  we  are  not  as  those  of 
Bombay.     We  can  fight  for  our  own." 


250  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

There  was  a  surge  of  assent  in  the  crowd,  as  if  it 
sought  to  begin  at  once,  and  Khojee,  clutching  her 
gold  bangle  tighter,  fled  incontinently  down  a  by-street. 
So  little  might  turn  her  limp  into  a  fall,  and  then  that 
fifteen-rupees'-worth  might  roll  into  the  gutter  and  be 
snatched  up  by  any  one.  Here,  in  the  tortuous  alleys, 
it  was  at  least  quiet,  though  it  was  dark.  She  sUthered 
in  the  welter  of  the  day's  rubbish  flung  from  the  high 
houses  on  either  side,  and  a  scamper  of  pattering  feet 
told  her  she  had  disturbed  some  rats  battening  on  a  bit 
of  choice  garbage. 

^^ Allah  Iiamid r'  she  muttered  piously,  and  went  on. 
The  sound  of  wailing  from  one  of  the  scarce-seen  houses 
she  was  passing  reminded  her  regretfully  of  the  carda- 
moms ;  for  she  had  left  shops  behind  her.  Then  she 
remembered  one,  not  far  from  the  gate  of  the  city,  which 
she  must  pass ;  one  of  those  miscellaneous  shops  which 
are  always  to  be  found  near  city  gates,  where  travellers 
can  buy  most  things  —  flour  and  vegetables,  red  pep- 
pers, pipe  bowls,  tobacco.  Ay,  and  opium  perhaps ; 
but  on  the  sly,  since  there  was  no  license  over  the  door. 
It  was  not  the  sort  of  shop  that  such  as  Khojeeya 
Khanum  patronised  as  a  rule ;  still  it  might  have 
cardamoms. 

The  low-caste  buniya,  with  a  wrinkled  monkey  face 
and  long  iron-grey  hair,  who  crouched  behind  dingy 
platters  and  dusty  bags,  looked  ghoulish  by  the  one 
flickering  Hght  set  in  the  solitary  cavern  of  a  shop ; 
for  on  either  side  of  it  was  blank  wall,  trending  away 
to  narrow  alleys. 

Khojee  hesitated.  Such  men  drove  many  nefarious 
trades.     Still  this  one  might  have  cardamoms ! 

"  Cardamoms  !  "  he  echoed  with  a  leer.  "  Yea  !  yea, 
princess  !  True  cardamoms  to  satisfy  the  best  of  royal 
blood  —  he!  he!"  Those  tall  houses  round  his  shop 
held  many  such  as  she,  and  he  had  recognised  the 
accent. 

Khdjee  scarce  knew  whether  to  be  flustered  or  flattered 
beneath  her  domino. 


THE  PRISON  OF  LIFE  25  I 

"  And  be  speedy,"  she  said  haughtily.  "  I  have  no 
time  to  spare  thee." 

"  Lo  !  Nazvdbin,"  he  jeered,  "  I  have  them  ;  such  carda- 
moms as  —  "  He  was  rummaging  in  the  heterogeneous 
mass  piled  up  against  the  back  wall  of  his  shop.  "  Wait 
but  a  moment.  I  have  them  —  I  have  them.  But  two 
days  ago,  my  princess,  I  had  them." 

Here,  by  chance,  an  unwary  pull  sent  a  pile  of  parcels 
and  bundles  in  confusion  round  him,  and  one  rolled  nigh 
to  Aunt  Khojee,  who  —  careful  ever  —  laid  a  hold  of  it 
to  save  a  possible  fall  into  the  gutter.  The  light  fell  on 
something  green  and  sheeny,  her  fingers  recognised  the 
feel  of  satin,  and,  the  bundle  having  unrolled  itself  some- 
what, she  caught  sight  of  the  unmistakable  cut  of  a 
trouser  leg !     She  opened  it  out  a  little  curiously. 

"Canst  not  leave  things  alone .-' "  snapped  the  shop- 
keeper angrily.     "Those  be  not  cardamoms." 

"  They  be  something  I  may  need  for  all  that,"  retorted 
Khojee  with  spirit  —  the  spirit  which  never  fails  a  woman 
in  the  struggle  for  cJdffons.  So  there  she  was,  testing 
the  satin  with  her  finger,  appraising  the  make.  If  they 
had  only  been  pink !  —  though  that  was  but  a  detail, 
since  they  were  beyond  her  purse ;  the  satin  better  by 
far  than  the  much-to-be-regretted  pink  —  the  whole 
newer  — 

She  wrinkled  them  aside  with  a  sigh.  "  Give  me 
the  cardamoms,  brother.  I  have  not  the  money  for 
these."     The  man  looked  at  her  cunningly. 

"  If  the  Daughter  of  Kings  needs  trousers,  she  will 
find  none  cheaper." 

"  They  would  yet  be  too  dear  for  me,  brother,"  she 
answered  mildly;  "the  cardamoms  will  do."  — 

He  edged  nearer,  his  evil  face  growing  confidential. 
"  Lo !  Bhagsu  never  drives  a  hard  bargain  with  the 
noble,"  he  cringed.  "  It  might  be  that  the  virtuous 
lady's  money  would  purchase  these,  and  save  them  from 
the  badness  of  bazaars ;  since  they  come  from  virtue 
and  should  go  to  virtue.  How  much  hath  the  princess 
to  offer? " 


252  VOICES  hV  THE  NIGHT 

Khojee  gave  a  half-embarrassed  laugh.  It  was  im- 
possible, of  course,  and  yet  — 

"That  is  as  may  be,"  she  replied;  "what  she  will 
offer,  is  this  —  "  With  a  flutter  of  shame  and  hope  she 
put  down  the  two  rupees  and  the  handful  of  pice.  Then 
she  remembered  the  cardamoms  !  "  That,"  she  contin- 
ued, telling  herself  she  might  as  well  be  bold  to  the 
bitter  end,  "for  the  trousers  and  the  cardamoms."  It 
was  a  diplomatic  stroke,  if  an  unconscious  one,  for 
Bhagsu  instantly  recognised  that  she  had,  indeed,  ven- 
tured her  all ;  that  the  chance  was  his  to  take  or  leave. 

He  gave  a  melancholy  groan,  then  began  to  roll  up 
the  green  satin,  and  tie  it  round  with  some  of  the  triple- 
coloured  cotton  hanking  used  at  weddings,  which,  for 
some  occult  reason,  is  always  sold  at  these  wayside 
shops.  "  Shiv;;V^  be  my  witness,"  he  whimpered,  "  I 
give  them  for  naught.  But  what  then  }  Virtue  goes  out 
to  virtue,  and  those  who  live  amongst  the  noble  must  be 
noble !  " 

Khojee  could  hardly  believe  her  ears. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  she  could  hardly  believe  her 
eyes,  as  —  Khadjee  having  retired  safely  to  sleep  with 
a  sausage-roll  pillow  and  a  quilt  —  she  sat  in  the  court- 
yard gloating  over  her  wonderful  purchase. 

It  was  simply  astounding.  Even  Khadjee  must  for- 
give her  duplicity  in  regard  to  that  secret  pawning  of 
pink  trousers,  with  such  green  ones  as  these  for  repara- 
tion !  all  piped,  and  edged,  and  faced,  with  quite  a  new 
braiding  of  gold  thread  down  the  front  seam,  and  a  new 
scent  to  them  also  ;  the  wearer  must  have  been  in  strange 
parts,  though  the  cut  was  of  the  North. 

She  folded  the  precious  garments  with  loving  little 
pats,  brought  out  the  remaining  portions  of  the  state 
toilet  from  the  almost  empty  store,  saw  that  Noormahal's 
muslin  was  as  pure  and  white  and  smooth  as  her  old 
hands  could  make  it,  arranged  the  cardamoms  in  little 
saucers,  and  so,  when  the  city  had  long  since  become 
silent,  curled  her  tired  old  limbs  on  a  string  bed  set 
across   the   doorway   of   the   inner   court  —  where   the 


THE  PRISON  OF  LIFE  253 

servant  should  have  slept,  had  there  been  one — and 
slept  fitfully. 

For  she  had  to  be  up  at  dawn,  so  that  everything 
should  be  ready  for  the  visitings,  and  yet  leave  her  time 
to  get  round  to  the  goldsmith's,  sell  the  bangle  by 
weight,  and  purchase  some  "  Essence  of  Happiness"  — 
which  was,  alas !  worth  its  weight  in  gold. 

Yet  when  it  came  it  had  not  much  effect,  greatly  to 
poor  Khojee's  disappointment.  Even  the  quivering, 
sobbing  keene  of  her  neighbours  and  relations  did  not 
rouse  Noormahal  to  any  proper  display  of  grief,  and  — 
as  the  groups  whispered  —  how  could  you  expect  to  lose 
tears  unless  you  shed  them  t  Was  it  not  a  distinct 
defiance  of  Providence  to  deal,  even  with  sorrow,  as  if 
it  were  your  own  absolutely  .-*  Finally,  was  not  kJiushki 
(dryness)  one  of  the  fundamental  faults  in  things  cre- 
ated .''  —  the  other  being  giinn-ai  (heat). 

Khadeeja  Khanum,  however,  was  quite  suflficiently 
ttir  and  tiinda  (damp  and  cool)  to  satisfy  the  most  rigid 
standard  of  etiquette ;  and  what  with  the  real  carda- 
moms, the  new  trousers,  a  pennyworth  of  orange-blos- 
som oil  which  Khojee  had  brought  with  the  "  Essence  of 
Happiness,"  and  a  most  encouraging  report  of  prevail- 
ing sickness  and  death  amongst  mutual  acquaintances 
brought  by  the  visitors,  the  old  lady  had  quite  a  flush 
on  her  withered  cheeks  by  evening,  and  admitted  to  her 
sister,  when  the  latter  helped  her  to  undress,  that  the 
whole  thing  had  really  gone  off  very  well. 

Nevertheless  she  was  rather  fatigued  on  the  next  day. 
The  day  after  that,  Khojee,  returning  from  the  purchas- 
ing of  some  lemon-grass  oil,  wherewith  to  wile  away 
the  aching  in  the  back,  caused,  no  doubt,  by  the  muscular 
effort  of  a  continual  whimper,  found  her  seated  on  the 
string  bed  in  the  centre  of  the  lonely  courtyard,  attired 
in  the  green  satin  trousers  and  concomitants,  waiting, 
so  she  said,  for  the  bridal  party  to  arrive. 

How  stupid  Khojee  was!  Of  course,  having  regard 
to  her  deformity,  it  was  only  natural  she  should  take 
little  heed  of  such  things.     But  all  were  not  made  that 


254  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

way,  and  it  was  high  time  the  bridal  party  did  come. 
It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  an  undue  interval  had  elapsed 
since  the  betrothal  day,  when  —  if  Khojee  would  re- 
member—  she  wore  pink,  not  green.  Anyhow  she, 
ShaJizadi  Khadeeja  Khanum,  was  not  one  to  stand  any 
slackness  in  a  bridegroom's  ardour,  and  if  he  did  not 
appear  that  day  she  would  choose  another. 

She  did.  Death  claimed  her  as  his  before  twelve 
hours  were  over  ;  almost  before  poor  Noormahal,  roused 
at  last  from  her  absorption  in  grief,  had  realised  she  was 
ill.  It  seemed  incredible !  The  Nawabin's  big  eyes, 
larger,  darker  than  ever  —  encircled  as  they  were  by 
great  shadows  which  seemed  to  have  crept  down  the 
oval  of  her  face,  making  it  pointed,  pinched  —  turned  to 
Aunt  Khojee,  even  at  the  moment  of  death,  in  bewil- 
dered reproach  and  regret. 

"  And  thou  hast  called  none  in  to  send  her  soul  forth 
with  prayers?  Oh,  Khojee!  that  was  ill  done.  Nay! 
I  mean  no  blame  for  thee  alone,  kind  one,  but  for  us 
both  —  yet  we  did  not  know  —  we  did  not  dream  — 
did  we.?" 

Khojee  stood  for  a  second,  speechless,  rigid,  her  eyes 
staring,  yearning  towards  the  familiar  face  over  which 
the  awful  unfamiliar  look  was  creeping ;  then,  with  a 
wild  cry,  she  threw  up  her  arms  and  grovelled  at  Noor- 
mahal's  feet. 

"  Nay  !  I  knew  —  I  knew  from  the  first.  Oh,  child  1 
I  have  killed  her  —  I,  Khojee  —  hush  !  wail  not !  None 
must  know.  And  touch  her  not,  Noormahal ;  that  is 
for  me  —  for  her  sister  who  killed  her.  Lo  I  child,  sole 
hope  of  the  house  I  stand  further  —  I  can  do  all  —  I  will 
do  all. — O  Khadjee  !  Khadjee!  canst  thou  forgive.-' 
And  I  knew  —  I  knew  in  my  heart  all  was  not  right.  I 
knew  none  would  rightly  sell  such  green  satin  trousers  " 
—  here  she  broke  into  sobbing  laughter  —  "yet  wert 
thou  happy,  sister,  and  I  took  the  blame  of  theft,  if  it 
was  theft  —  and  it  was  —  theft  of  thy  life  —  O  Khadjee  ! 
Khadjee  I  " 

Noormahal,  pressed   back  by  frantic  clinging   arms 


THE  PRISON  OF  LIFE  2$$ 

into  a  cornel  of  the  dark  room  —  for  Khojee,  declaring 
the  illness  to  be  a  chill,  had  insisted  on  keeping  the 
patient  inside  —  caught  in  her  breath  fearfully.  "  Peace, 
Khojee !  let  me  go,  auntie  !  —  Lo !  thou  art  not  well 
thyself  —  the  fever  hath  thee  —  thou  art  distraught  with 
grief,  as  I  was.  Come,  let  us  go  into  the  light,  and  I 
myself  will  call — " 

Khojee  rose  to  her  feet,  and  laid  a  quick  hand  on 
Noormahal's  mouth.  "  Nay  !  none  must  call,"  she  said 
sternly,  her  self-control  brought  back  by  dread.  "Yea  ! 
come  into  the  light  and  leave  her.  Come,  and  I  will 
tell  thee  there  —  in  the  Hght." 

"  How  dost  thou  know }  "  asked  Noormahal,  gone 
grey  to  her  very  lips.  "  It  is  not  that  —  lo  !  folk  die  of 
other  things.  I  have  seen  them.  Remember  our  cousin 
—  it  was  just  so  —  " 

Khojee's  mask  of  despair  showed  no  wavering. 
"  Nay,  it  is  the  plague.  They  talked  of  it  at  the 
wailing.  It  hath  been  here  and  there  in  the  city  this 
week  past.  Mittun  held  it  blasphemy  that  it  should 
be  aught  but  God's  will,  and  I  cried  yea !  to  him ;  but 
cannot  God  send  it  in  the  clothes  ? "  Her  face,  drawn, 
haggard,  almost  awful  in  its  questioning,  settled  after  a 
second  into  decision.  "Yea!  it  is  the  plague  —  the 
swellings  they  speak  of  are  there.  It  was  the  trousers. 
I  killed  her.  And  none  must  know,  or  they  will  come 
and  poison  thee  in  hospital,  lest  it  spread.  That  is  why 
I  called  no  one.  The  courtyard  is  wide.  I  can  dig 
a  grave  —  "  Noormahal  gave  a  sharp  cry  of  horrified 
dissent.  "  Yea !  I  can  —  my  hands  are  not  as  thine, 
sweetheart,  soft  and  fine.  Old  Khojee's  ugliness  can 
do  more  than  thy  beauty  —  the  beauty  of  King's 
Daughters  which  none  may  see  !  Remember  that,  child, 
remember  that "  —  her  voice  rang  clear  of  sobs  for  those 
words  ;  she  rose  from  where  she  had  crouched  to  tell 
her  tale,  and  looked  round  her  with  dull,  yet  steady, 
eyes.  "  There  is  no  hurry.  If  folk  come,  none  need 
know  she  is  dead.  I  will  say  she  sleeps.  And  at  night 
I  can  dig.     Yea !  I  knew  it  from  the  first.     But  there  is 


256  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

no  fear,  heart's  darling !  Thou  hast  scarce  been  nigh 
her.  That  is  why  I  kept  her  close.  And  to-night  I 
will  carry  her  to  the  outer  courtyard  —  there  is  a  padlock 
to  the  naubut  kJiana  stairs,  and  room  for  —  room  for  her 
beside  them,  I  have  thought  —  yea !  thought  while  I 
watched.  There  is  no  fear,  Noormahal !  All  will  go 
well.  Thou  wilt  have  patience,  as  wives  should,  and 
Jehan  will  return  to  thee,  and  little  Sa'adut  from  his 
paradise  will  smile  on  brothers  —  ay  !  and  sisters  too  — 
sisters  whom  thou  wilt  spare  to  old  Aunt  Khojee's  arms. 
God  knows  it  shall  be  so.  Deny  it  not,  girl  —  dare  not 
to  deny  it !     He  only  knows  !  " 

Her  face  through  its  tears  was  alight  with  faith  and 
hope  and  charity,  and  Noormahal's  as  she  looked,  lost 
its  hardness  ;  a  dreaminess  that  was  almost  tender  came 
to  the  dry,  bright  eyes. 

"  Yea  !     He  knows." 

That  night,  after  the  peacocks  with  their  broken 
plaster  tails  ceased  to  show  against  the  growing  dusk, 
there  were  faint  cautious  sounds  below  them,  where  the 
two  women  dug  at  a  grave.  For  in  this,  at  least,  Noor- 
mahal had  said  she  could  help.  It  was  not  finished  by 
dawn ;  and  after  that  Khojee  worked  alone  and  only  by 
snatches,  while  Noormahal  watched  from  the  door  of  the 
inner  courtyard,  ready  to  give  the  alarm  should  any 
visitor  come  —  ready  also  to  entertain  them. 

And  the  next  night  Khojee  would  have  no  help  at  all. 
How  she  managed  was  a  marvel,  but  she  did  manage. 
Even  Khadeeja  Khanum  herself,  had  she  been  able  to 
make  comments,  could  scarcely  have  found  fault  with 
any  lack  of  ceremony.  And  she  would  certainly  have 
been  gratified  by  her  dead-clothes ;  for  Khojee,  with 
that  terrible  remorse  at  her  heart,  spared  nothing  from 
the  costume  of  ceremony.  The  green  satin  trousers 
should  deal  no  more  death.  And  even  the  silver  ear- 
rings, the  few  trumpery  silver  bracelets,  parting  from 
which  would  have  been  worse  than  death  to  the  dead 
woman,  she  replaced  with  facsimiles  in  "  German."  For 
silver  could  be  purified  by  fire,  and  the  living  had  need 


THE   PRISON  OF  LIFE  257 

of  it;  while  who  knew  whether  the  corpse  could  tell  the 
difference  ?  Not  likely,  since  God  was  good,  and  there- 
fore there  was  no  need  to  be  on  one's  guard  against 
cheating  in  His  Paradise!  So,  in  a  way,  "German" 
was  as  good  as  silver  there !  For  poor  Khojee's  white 
soul  arrived  at  right  conclusions  by  curious  methods ; 
she  worked  by  them  also,  and,  when  that  second  dawn 
came,  it  was  a  very  tired  old  woman  who  crept  to  the 
string  bed  set  against  the  door. 

But  she  rose  again  early,  and  telling  Noormahal  that, 
since  there  was  now  no  one  in  the  house  but  herself 
while  marketings  were  going  on,  she  had  better  keep 
the  inner  door  closed,  went  off  to  the  bazaar.  She 
limped  more  than  ever  because  of  her  tiredness,  yet 
she  sped  through  the  streets  quicker  than  usual,  since,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  went  with  her  face  uncovered. 
There  was  a  breathlessness  in  that  old  face,  and  the  old 
hands  that  held  the  knotted  corner  of  her  veil,  wherein 
she  had  tied  every  available  morsel  of  silver,  every  scrap 
of  gold  lace  or  ornament  for  which  even  a  farthing  could 
be  got,  were  clasped  on  each  other  with  almost  painful 
tension. 

"  Lo,  brother!"  she  said  mildly  to  the  goldsmith, 
"what  matters  a  nithi  or  two.  Weigh  it  quick,  and 
give  what  is  just.     What  is  just!  that  is  all  I  ask." 

It  was  not  much,  that  bare  justice,  but  it  was  some- 
thing ;  and  there  was  still  a  rupee  or  two  over  from  the 
"  Essence  of  Happiness,"  from  the  unavoidable  expenses 
of  that  secret  burial.  So  she  passed  hurriedly  to  a 
grain-merchant's  shop. 

Here  she  felt  lost  for  a  moment,  lost,  in  the  magni- 
tude of  what  she  needed  to  one  whose  purchases  for 
many  years  had  been  a  bare  day's  supply. 

"  It  is  for  a  wedding,  likely,"  asked  the  grain-dealer 
curiously. 

"  Likely,"  she  echoed  softly.  Her  very  brain  felt 
tired,  and  it  seemed  to  her  confusedly  as  if,  after  all,  it 
might  be  a  wedding.  The  Y^ox^-saJiib  might  send  help, 
Noormahal  might  be  saved,  Jehan  might  come  back  to 


258  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

her.  All  things  were  possible  to  patience;  and  she, 
Khojee,  was  patient  enough,  surely? 

"Thou  must  send  it  in  an  hour's  time,"  she  said  to 
the  corn-dealer,  her  head  being  still  clear  enough  for 
that  one  single  purpose  of  hers,  "  then  I  shall  be  back. 
And,  look  you !  I  have  paid  coolie  hire.  There  must  be 
no  asking  for  more." 

That  was  a  necessary  warning,  since,  when  she 
reached  home,  every  farthing  would  have  been  spent. 

All  but  one  was  spent,  when  she  paused  beside  the 
public  scribe  who  had  set  up  his  desk  at  a  corner  where 
two  bazaars  met. 

"  Is  it  a  letter,  mother  ? "  he  asked  of  the  old  woman 
who  put  out  a  hand  against  the  wooden  pillar  of  the 
neighbouring  shop  as  if  for  support.  "  To  the  house- 
master, likely." 

She  shook  her  head  this  time.  "  Nay,  vtecan  !  There 
is  no  house-master,"  she  said  softly,  as  before,  "  and  it 
is  not  even  a  letter.  But  a  //r^-worth  of  words  on  a 
scrap  of  paper.  Listen!  ^ There  is  food  enough. 
Tarry  the  Lord's  comiiig  without  fear  or  noise.  I 
have  locked  the  door.'  Canst  do  that  for  a  pice, 
meean  ?  And  write  clear,  'tis  for  a  woman's  eyes." 
As  she  repeated  the  message,  swaying  to  and  fro  as  if 
she  were  reciting  the  Koran,  the  scribe  smiled  at  a  by- 
stander and  touched  his  forehead  significantly. 

"  If  beauty  lie  behind  the  door,  the  locking  of  it  is  a 
//V^-worth  in  itself,"  he  said  with  a  grin,  "and  I  give 
the  rest!" 

''If  beauty  lay  behind  it!  "  she  thought  as  she  went  on, 
with  the  paper  folded  in  her  hands.  Yes !  it  was  beauty, 
for  the  safety  of  which  her  ugHness  was  responsible. 
Had  she  done  all  1  Had  she  forgotten  nothing  1  Noth- 
ing that  would  ensure  Noormahal  from  intrusion  until 
she,  Khojee  the  plague-stricken,  had  died  in  the  streets. 
For  that  was  her  plan.  When  death  came  close,  as  it 
surely  must  come  soon,  as  it  had  done  to  Khadjee,  she 
would  unbolt  the  doors  and  wander  away  —  like  a  tailor- 
bird  luring  a  snake  from  its  nest  —  into  the  outskirts  of 


THE  PKISOX  OF  LIFE  259 

the  city,  right  away  from  the  old  house.  And  then 
what  stranger  was  to  know  that  Khadjee  had  died  of 
plague,  and  was  buried  by  the  najtbnt  kJiana  stairs  ? 

When  death  came  close!  but  not  till  then.  Surely 
there  was  no  need  till  then  to  face  the  world  —  surely 
she  might  claim  that  much  ! 

And  when  she  was  dead  no  one  would  know  the  lame 
old  woman  was  Khojeeya  Khanum,  Daughter  of  Kings. 
Not  even  Lateefa. 

The  thought  of  him  brought  her  a  sudden  fear.  He 
was  the  only  one  who,  having  the  right  to  claim  it,  might, 
by  chance,  seek  entrance  to  the  courtyard  in  the  next 
day  or  two.  She  might  on  her  way  home  see  him,  or 
leave  a  message  to  reassure  him,  at  the  house  next 
Dilaram's,  whither  she  had  fled  with  the  news  of  Sobrai's 
escape. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  house,  no  one  in  the  little 
yard  behind  it ;  but  Lateefa  had  been  there  not  long  ago, 
for  the  clippings  of  his  trade  littered  one  corner,  and  two 
draggled  kites,  their  strings  still  fastened  to  wooden  pegs 
in  the  wall,  lay  huddled  in  another. 

Dilaram  might  know ;  a  message  might  be  left  with 
her. 

As  Khojee  stumbled  up  the  dark  stairs  to  a  balcony 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  tried  to  straighten 
her  veil,  but  her  hands  trembled ;  it  would  not  fold 
decorously. 

There  were  three  or  four  drowsy  women  lounging 
in  the  room  at  the  door  of  which  she  stood,  beset  by  a 
sudden  shyness,  and  three  of  them  tittered  at  the  unu- 
sual sight ;  but  the  fourth  said  severely  — 

"  What  dost  here,  sister  ^.  This  is  no  place  for  thy 
sort." 

"I  —  I  seek  Lateefa,"  she  faltered,  and  the  others 
tittered  louder. 

"  Peace,  fools  !  "  said  Dilaram  angrily.  "  Dost  mean 
Lateefa  the  kitemaker  .?  " 

But  Khojee  had  found  her  dignity.  "  Yea !  Lateef 
of  the  House  of  the  Nawab  Jehan  Aziz,  on  whom  be 


26o  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

peace.  Tell  him,  courtesan,  that  Khojeeya  Khanum  —  " 
She  paused,  doubtful  of  her  message,  and,  in  the  pause, 
the  jingles  on  Dilaram's  feet  clashed  once  more  as  she 
rose  to  do  honour  to  a  different  life. 

"  Let  the  Bibt  sahiba  speak,"  she  said  in  her  most 
mellifluous  tones.  "  We  in  the  freedom  of  vice  are 
slaves  to  the  prisoners  of  virtue." 

"Tell  him,"  said  Khojeeya  Khanum,  "that  it  is  well 
with  the  prison  and  the  prisoners.  That  they  need  no 
service." 

As  she  stumbled  down  the  stairs  again  there  was  no 
sound  of  tittering. 

It  was  nearly  an  hour  after  this,  and  the  noonday  sun 
was  flooding  the  courtyards,  when  Khojee,  having  com- 
pleted her  preparations,  closed  the  door  between  them 
softly,  so  as  not  to  disturb  Noormahal  —  who  had  already 
retired  for  the  usual  midday  sleep  —  and  slipped  a  paper 
through  the  chink  of  the  lintel  ere  drawing  it  close  and 
padlocking  the  hasp. 

Noormahal  could  not  fail  to  see  the  reassuring  mes- 
sage there  when  she  woke,  and  began  to  wonder  where 
Auntie  Khojee  had  gone. 

As  she  straightened  herself  from  stooping  to  the  pad- 
lock, she  felt,  giddily,  that  she  had  locked  herself  out 
of  life.  She  had  but  a  few  hours  left  of  seclusion,  and 
then  —  the  streets. 

But  those  few  hours  she  might  surely  claim.  So  she 
closed  and  barred  the  wicket  in  the  outer  door,  and 
dragging  a  string  bed  into  the  scant  shade  cast  by  the 
nanbut  k/uuia,  found  rest  for  her  aching  limbs.  And 
there  she  lay  silent,  taking  no  heed  of  Noormahal's 
knockings  and  appeals  which,  after  a  time,  rose  cau- 
tiously. When  they  ceased  the  old  woman  gave  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

Thus  far  all  had  gone  well.  Now  she  had  only  to 
wait  till  she  felt  she  dare  wait  no  more. 

So  she  lay,  watching  the  shadows  of  the  broken-tailed 
plaster  peacocks  of  royalty  above  the  gateway  creep  over 
the  courtyard,  up  the  walls,  and  disappear  into  thin  air. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE    PEN    AND    THE    SWORD 

Jehan  Aziz  was  meanwhile  repenting  at  leisure  in 
oriental  fashion.  That  is,  he  had  succumbed  to  the 
perpetual  temptation  of  a  string  bed  set  either  in  shade 
or  sunshine,  to  which  it  is  always  possible  to  retire 
without,  as  it  were,  quite  throwing  up  the  sponge.  An 
Englishman  who  seeks  his  bed  and  turns  his  face  to  the 
wall  gives  himself  away ;  the  native  who  does  the  same 
thing  is  not  even  committed  to  discouragement.  And 
Jehan,  though  he  had  a  racking  headache  from  an 
attempt  to  drown  care  in  a  debauch,  was  not  exactly 
discouraged.  His  anger,  though  impotent,  was  too 
strong  for  that.  Indeed,  his  whole  force  of  character 
lay  in  his  fierce  arrogance ;  for  he  was  neither  clever 
nor  cunning,  like  Burkut  Ali.  And  so  when,  the  day 
after  the  disappearance  of  the  ring,  the  latter  walked 
coolly  in  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  sat  down  on 
the  end  of  the  string  bed,  Jehan  only  sat  up  at  the  other 
end  and  glowered  at  the  man,  without  whom  he  knew 
himself  to  be  lost. 

"  Thou  hadst  best  tell  the  truth.  Lord  of  the  Uni- 
verse," said  Burkut,  with  a  line  sarcasm,  "for  I  have 
heard  many  lies  from  the  police.  My  head  whirls  with 
women,  and  pearls,  and  God  knows  what!  Is  there  so 
much  as  foothold  anywhere,  whence  we  may  deal  a 
blow .? " 

Jehan  felt  comforted  by  that  plural,  though  it  roused 
curiosity  to  know  what  Burkut  would  be  at.  In  truth, 
the  latter's  first  desire  for  vengeance  on  Jehan  only,  had 
shifted  as  he  had  listened  to  the  tales  he  bribed  the 
police  to  tell.    Here,  it  had  seemed  to  him,  was  the  pos- 

261 


262  VOICES  IM   THE  NIGHT 

sibility  of  greater  mischief ;  mischief  which,  it  was  true, 
could  have  no  immediate  or  definite  object,  but  which 
would  add  something  fresh  to  that  rock  of  offence,  that 
stumbling  block  in  the  way  of  the  alien  master,  on 
which  it  was  the  duty  of  the  disloyal  to  cast  every  stone 
they  could. 

It  took  five  cigarettes,  and  two  whisky-pegs  sent  for 
from  the  liquor  shop  next  door,  ere  Jehan  —  in  the  abso- 
lute undress  which  seems  to  afford  comfort  to  all  Indians 
in  time  of  trouble  —  had  finished  his  tale. 

"  There  is  much  in  it,"  remarked  Burkut  slowly.  "  As 
for  the  ring,  Lateef  hath  it.  There  is  none  else.  And 
he  is  a  friend  of  thy  house.  He  worked  there ;  is  it  not 
so .''  Bethink  thee,  is  there  no  woman  in  it  who  hath  a 
hold  on  him  }  " 

Jehan  frowned  horribly  at  the  indecent  suggestion ; 
but  even  this  insult,  he  felt,  had  to  be  faced.  "  None," 
he  said  shortly,  "  unless  the  jade  who  escaped." 

Burkut  grinned  cunningly  and  shook  his  head.  "  My 
lord  doth  not  understand  women.  Lateef  hath  kept  the 
ring  for  the  honour,  not  the  dishonour,  of  the  house.  It 
will  go  back,  if  it  hath  not  already  gone,  to  the  safe 
keeping  which  hath  secured  it  all  these  years." 

Jehan  winced  again  under  the  innuendo.  "Think 
you  it  is  there  already  .''  " 

"  It  will  be,  if  we  give  him  time,"  replied  Burkut ; 
"  and  all  the  more  surely,  if  we  say  it  is  there  already. 
That  is  simple,  since  Nushapore  knows  that  the  guar- 
dianship of  the  signet  was  not  with  my  lord  always.  It 
is  but  to  withdraw  the  charge  of  theft,  saying  that  we 
have  found  the  ring  returned  to  its  rightful  owner,  the 
Nawabin." 

This  time  Jehan  ground  his  teeth ;  he  felt  his  im- 
potence, even  against  this  man,  horribly.  "  And  then  }  " 
he  asked  sullenly. 

"And  then  we  shall  be  free  to  watch  Lateefa.  We 
can  give  him  time  to  go  to  his  hiding-place.  And  then 
we  can  search  him  —  and  thy  house.  But  without  the 
police !     We  must  have  no  more  of  t/iet'r  methods.     It 


THE  PEN  AND    THE   SWORD  263 

hath  cost  me  somewhat  to  get  beyond  them  now,  which 
sum  shall  be  as  a  debt  between  thee  and  me  —  but  there 
must  be  no  more  of  it !  " 

"But  the  pearls?"  replied  Jehan  uneasily;  "the 
pearls  and  that  jade  Sobrai,  whom  God  curse." 

Burkut  gave  a  sudden  blink  of  his  long  eyes.  "  Say 
rather,  may  God  curse  those  who  led  virtue  astray  ! 
'Tis  a  tale,  my  lord,  to  dissolve  heart  and  liver !  Kid- 
napped by  order,  almost  by  force.  Bribed  to  a  sahib's 
pleasure  by  pearls.  By  four  pearls  taken  —  oh  !  most 
horrible  !  — from  a  string  which  the  head  of  her  house 
had,  with  tears,  sold  to  that  same  sahib.  Sold  in  his 
honourable  indigence,  which  had  not  hesitated  to  wrench 
the  last  ornament  from  the  necks  of  virtuous  women  in 
order  to  keep  them  virtuous  — "  He  paused  in  his 
periods  for  breath. 

"PVdh/"  said  Jehan  stupidly  —  his  jaw  had  almost 
fallen  in  sheer  surprise  — "  that  runs  well.  But  the 
proof  .'' " 

Burkut  smiled  a  superior  smile.  "  Thy  reluctance  to 
allow  publicity.  Thy  instant  assertion  that  the  pearls 
were  thine.  Lo !  is  not  the  whole  true,  save  that  Lucan- 
aster  sahib  gave  the  pearls  to  Sobrai  ?  And  that  is  for 
him  to  prove.  'Tie  a  lie  to  a  truth  and  the  two  will  sink 
or  sivim  together'  is  good  wisdom  !  " 

"  But  they  must  see  the  pearls  —  they  said  so  but  yes- 
terday.    The  magistrate  i"<7///<^  —  " 

"  Go  to  him,  and  make  thy  confession.  Say  that  there 
was  but  this  untruth.  The  pearls  were  not,  they  had 
been  thine.  Say  that,  even  now,  if  thou  canst  but  get 
the  girl  back  in  secret  —  " 

"  In  secret,"  echoed  Jehan  fiercely,  "  when  already  the 
police  —  " 

Burkut  lost  patience  then.  "Fool !  canst  not  thou  see 
that  in  that  lies  the  gain }  Thou  canst  stand  aloof,  but 
the  hell-doomed  must  answer !  And  not  the  one ;  but  all. 
Lo !  it  is  a  tale  for  the  bazaars!  for  the  newspapers! 
And  'tis  not  as  if  thou  couldst  keep  it  secret  longer. 
Thou  canst  not.     Therefore  use  it  against  those  whose 


264  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

fault  it  is  that  thou  canst  not."  He  paused  suddenly, 
folded  his  hands  in  the  attitude  of  service,  and  said  rev- 
erently :  "  What  orders  hath  the  Pillar  of  Justice,  the 
Pvlighty  in  Power,  the  Disposer  of  Slaves,  regarding  a 
necklace  of  pearls,  and  one  Sobrai  Begum,  a  woman  of 
his  household  ? " 

The  sarcasm  bit  deep,  and  Jehan  Aziz,  the  Rightful 
Heir  to  such  power,  swore,  this  time,  horribly,  feeling  as 
Burkut  intended,  that  revenge  was  better  than  nothing. 

"And  I  will  bring  trouble  to  Miss  Leezie  also,"  he 
began  viciously,  when  Burkut  cut  him  short. 

"  That  were  unwise.  She  stands  too  close  to  authority. 
Say  it  was  Dilaram  —  " 

"  Dilaram  !  wherefore  .''  "  put  in  Jehan  stupidly. 

Burkut's  laugh  was  evil  beyond  words.  "  Because 
they  who  touch  her  and  hers,  rouse  what  they  cannot 
still.  Thou  needst  not  say  it  for  certain.  That  is  the 
best  of  lies  —  there  is  freedom  for  the  tongue  in  them. 
Say  it  seems  so.  And  hearken  —  !  Govind  the  editor 
will  pay  for  this  news.  If  thou  canst  get  word,  by 
means  of  this  money,  to  Sobrai  herself,  it  would  be  well. 
She  knows  her  fate  if  she  comes  back  to  thy  house. 
Promise  her  escape  if  she  will  say  it  was  Lucanaster." 

Jehan's  pious  wishes  for  the  immediate  destruction  of 
all  the  unfaithful  came  almost  cheerfully.  He  felt  infi- 
nitely relieved  all  round.  So  far  as  the  ring  went,  he 
was  inclined  to  believe  that  Burkut  was  right.  It  might 
even  now  be  back  in  Noormahal's  keeping ;  but,  before 
making  sure  of  that,  it  would  be  as  well  to  see  what  La- 
teefa  would  do.  Then  as  for  the  pearls,  he  at  least  got 
some  revenge.  And  the  beauty  of  it  was  that  a  solid 
substratum  of  truth,  sufficient  to  save  him  from  trouble, 
underlay  all  the  lies.  The  pearls  zvere  his  ;  he  hnd  sold 
them  to  Lucanaster  sahib;  Sobrai's  four  did  belong  to 
that  string  ;  she  had  been  beguiled  into  the  cantonments. 

It  was  only  that  a  different  complexion  had  been  put 
upon  the  facts  ;  a  complexion  which  might,  almost,  be 
the  right  one,  since  who  was  to  know  why  Sobrai 

Once  more  the  irrational,  uncontrollable  animal  jeal- 


THE  PEN  AXD    THE  SWORD  265 

oiisy  of  the  thought  seized  on  him,  and  he  felt  a  fierce  joy 
in  knowing  that  the  story  was  one  to  rouse  a  similar  feel- 
ing in  many  minds.  And  wherefore  not  ?  Were  not  simi- 
lar stories  true  ?  Were  they  not  to  be  heard  every  day  ? 
Were  not  tales  of  the  libertinism,  tyranny,  and  corruption 
of  the  saJtibs  to  be  read  in  every  line  of  the  newspapers  ? 
And  none  contradicted  them ;  therefore  they  could  not 
be  contradicted.  So  if  tJiis  tale  were  not  all  true  (a  faint 
scruple,  that  was  as  much  an  inheritance  as  Jehan's 
passion  for  power,  lingered  in  spite  of  his  desire  for 
revenge),  there  were  plenty  of  others  far  worse  that 
could  be  proved  up  to  the  hilt. 

Thus,  once  more,  that  commonest  of  all  Indian  con- 
juring tricks,  the  making  of  one  lie  out  of  two  or  more 
truths,  started  on  its  evil  errand. 

Yet  not  a  mile  away  from  its  starting-place  rose  the 
Government  College,  the  Courts  of  Justice,  the  Secre- 
tariat, the  Revenue  Offices;  all  the  plant,  the  stock,  and 
lock,  and  block,  of  an  administration  which,  take  it  as 
you  will,  is  the  only  one  India  has  ever  had,  which  has 
allowed  even  a  whisper  to  be  raised  against  it  without 
condign  punishment. 

At  that  very  moment  Sir  George  Arbuthnot,  in  his 
private  office,  was  reading  an  article  from  the  day's 
issue  of  the  Voice  of  India,  that  had  been  brought  over 
amongst  the  usual  selections  from  the  native  newspapers 
which  are  submitted  by  the  Press  censor. 

"/y  it  too  late,''  he  read,  ^^ ere  the  great  crisis  comes 
7/pon  7is  which  may  mean  so  much  to  the  poorest  of  the 
poor,  the  richest  of  the  rich,  to  implore  the  Government 
to  think,  ere  it  inflicts  on  the  helpless,  the  ho?'rible  and 
needless  tortJires  zvhich,  there  is  too  mncli  reasoji  to  fear, 
have  been  inflicted  on  our  fellozv-cou?itrj'men  in  other 
parts  of  unhappy  India  ?  Alay  we  not  once  more  venture 
to  plead  with  the  authorities  for  our  poor  tozvnsfolk,  and 
point  out  to  them  that  these  weaker  brethreji  have  beliefs 
which  they  ivould  rather  die  than  deny  ?  The  sacrediiess 
of  the  cow,  for  instance,  must,  and  does  seem  silly,  fool- 
ish, to  those  who  eat  beef  every  day,  but  to  our  people  it 


266  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

is  a  dogma.  To  yield  one  tittle  of  it  is  eternal  damna- 
tion. So  zvith  the  sacredness  of  their  ivomen.  This 
thesis  may  not  be  held  by  our  rulers.  We  knozv  that  it 
is  not.  Those  of  us  ivJio  have  seen  London  do  not  need 
to  be  told  this,  and  even  a  visit  to  cantonments  shows  us 
a  different  standard.  Talcs  that  are  Jiarrozving  to  the 
father's  and  husbands  of  India  may  be  food  for  laughter 
elsewhere.  Therefore  is  it  that  at  this  crisis  we  venture 
to  implore  the  great  English  Govei'nment  to  remember 
that  to  us  such  things  are  all  important.  That  we  can- 
not, we  dare  not  away  with  tJiem. 

"  The  late  generous  announcement  of  Sir  George  Ar- 
butJinot,  our  popiilar  Lieutoiant-Governor,  to  the  effect 
that  no  coercion  will  be  used,  at  the  outset,  has  greatly 
soothed  the  natural  alarm  of  all,  raised  by  general  and 
credible  belief  in  a  plan  of  campaign  similar  to  those 
approved  by  authorities  in  all  other  parts  of  India.  For 
which  diplomatic  iitterance  zve  poor  folk  are  grateful, 
atid  which  emboldens  us  to  ask  the  following  pertinent 
qiiestions :  — 

"  I.  Would  it  not  be  possible,  by  treating  ignorant  poor 
folk  with  kindness  and  consideration,  to  allay  their 
natural  fears  ? 

"2.  Would  it  not  be  well  to  issue  stringent  rules  that 
no  woma7i  shall  be  examined  for  plague  even  by  British 
soldiers,  and  that  Brahmins,  coivs,  and  family  idols  be 
not  zvilfully  ill-treated  f 

"3.  Though  it  is  to  be  feared,  alas,  that  jack-i?i-offi.ces 
must  perforce  exhibit  greed  and  covetousness,  should  not 
some  supervision  be  exercised  to  prevent  unnecessary 
removal  of  valuables,  '  et  hoc  genus  omne,'  from  plagiie- 
stricken  houses  ? 

"  4.  Finally,  is  it  not  possible,  even  at  this  late  hour, 
when  Plague  oversJiadozvs  us  with  horrible  mantles  of 
dread  {there  are  persistent  rumours  of  three  cases  in 
MuJialla  Kuaai\  that  the  co-operation  and  advice  of  edu- 
cated natives  be  invited  as  to  means  of  avoiding  friction. 
Comparisons  are  invidious,  but  it  is  not  too  much  to  say 
that  Messrs.  Bhola-ndth —  " 


THE  PEN  AND    THE   SWORD  267 

"  You  can  leave  off  there,  sir,"  said  the  assistant- 
secretary.  "  It  is  up  one  side  of  Shark  Lane  and  down 
the  other." 

Sir  George  turned  over  the  sHp  to  the  next  with 
elaborate  patience.  "  It  is  ingeniously  suggestive,"  he 
remarked.  "  By  the  way,  have  we  succeeded  in  getting 
any  more  volunteers  for  search  parties  .'*  " 

"  Two,  sir ;  but  they  are  both  retired  native  officers, 
and  as  that  would  make  all  but  five,  military,  the  com- 
missioner thought —  " 

"  Then  we  want  twenty  more.  Send  a  reminder  to 
Shark  Lane.  And  about  the  destruction  of  infected 
clothes .'' " 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  for  it,  sir,  as  we  agreed 
before,"  replied  the  chief  of  the  police.  "We  must  have 
an  Englishman  with  each  search  party.  It's  absurd  to 
expect  constables  on  five  rupees  a  month  to  keep  their 
hands  from  picking  and  stealing.  That  fact  must  be 
faced.  We  do  our  best ;  but  our  department,  which  is 
the  most  difficult  to  deal  with,  is  the  worst  paid." 

"That's  a  nasty  story,"  said  Sir  George  suddenly. 
He  had  been  glancing  through  another  excerpt.  "  Hm, 
the  Ear  of  the  Wise,  editor  Govinda  Ram." 

"  He  has  the  best  nose,  anyhow,  for  unmitigated  filth 
in  India,"  remarked  the  assistant-secretary;  "but  of 
course  one  can't  notice  that  sort  of  thing."  Here  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

The  chief  of  the  police,  who  was  an  old  military  man, 
squared  his.  "There  I  totally  disagree,  as  his  Honour 
knows.  That  paper  has  a  greater  effect  in  Nushapore 
than  all  those  high-falutin'  prints  put  together;  and 
that's  all  my  business.  I'd  have  him  up,  on  every 
slander,  in  the  criminal  courts.  You  wouldn't  allow 
that  sort  of  thing  about  the  masters  to  be  circulated  in 
a  school .''  And  the  more  we  remember  that  our  posi- 
tion in  India  is  virtually  that  of  a  schoolmaster,  or,  if 
you  like  it  better,  trustee  to  a  minority,  the  better  it 
will  be  for  that  minority." 

"  Bravo,  Grey  !  "  said  Sir  George,  with  a  smile.     "  You 


268  VOICES  LV  THE  NIGHT 

Stick  to  your  colours.  And  a  good  many  of  us  agree ; 
only  the  people  at  home  won't  have  it.  They  can't 
grasp  the  situation ;  they  would  as  soon  believe  it  to  be 
a  grave  political  danger  if  the  little  street  boys  hung 
garlands  round  Guy  Fawkes  instead  of  burning  him ! 
Now,  about  the  plague  itself.     Is  it  on  us,  doctor .-'  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  a  small  man  who  had  just  been 
shown  in.  "  We  have  just  inspected  all  the  native 
charitable  dispensaries.  They  have  no  proper  records, 
of  course,  and  they  deny  increased  attendance.  But 
they  are  almost  out  of  drugs.  Then  there  are  three 
undoubted  cases  in  the  butchers'  quarter.  But  the  fish- 
iest part  of  the  city  is  all  about  the  Garden  Gate.  Those 
tall  old  houses  —  there  has  been  a  lot  of  deaths." 

"  Poor,  high-class  Mohammedans,"  remarked  the 
assistant-secretary  significantly.     '*  Rather  bad  luck." 

Sir  George  rose  and  put  away  his  papers.  "  Then  we 
had  better  start.  I  think  everything  is  settled.  The 
great  point  is  to  keep  —  to  keep  normal  as  long  as 
possible." 

As  he  quitted  the  room  the  men  left  in  it  looked  at 
each  other. 

"  Right  so  far  ;  but  after  — "  said  one. 

"  Telegraph  home  for  orders  ;  what  else  can  you  do 
nowadays  .'' " 

"Do!  I'd  show  them,  if  I  had  a  free  hand.  I'd 
settle  this  lot."  The  chief  of  the  police  slapped  his 
confidential  file  viciously  as  he  pocketed  it.  "  I'd  limit 
their  circulation  by  a  little  wholesome  bloodletting." 

"  Not  worth  it !  They're  like  the  fifty  thousand  Irish 
patriots." 

"What  patriots?"  asked  the  chief  snappishly.  He 
hailed  from  across  St.  George's  Channel  himself,  and 
was  a  trifle  touchy  on  the  point  of  his  countrymen's 
disloyalty. 

"  The  fifty  thousand  Irish  patriots  whom  the  orator 
said  were  armed  to  the  teeth  ready  to  strike  a  blow  for 
liberty.  '  Thin  why  the  devil  don't  they  strike  it  .^ ' 
asked  one  of  the  audience.  '  Bedad !  the  polls'  won't 
let  them.'" 


THE  PEN  AND   THE  SIVGRD  269 

"  Hm  !  the  '  polis  '  wouldn't,  if  I'd  my  way,"  muttered 
the  old  soldier. 

Sir  George,  meanwhile,  had  gone  straight  to  his  wife's 
sitting-room ;  for  he  was  already  due  at  his  daily  recep- 
tion of  native  visitors,  and  he  had  something  he  wished 
to  tell  her. 

Scrupulously  particular  as  he  was  about  the  absolutely 
English  ordering  of  his  home-life,  there  was  something 
fantastic  —  even  to  him  —  to-day  in  the  sight  of  Grace 
in  a  low  rocking-chair,  reading  Hans  Andersen  to  Jerry, 
in  a  room  as  dainty  and  sweet  with  Enghsh  flowers  as 
any  in  an  English  country-house.  What  possible  right 
had  this  to  be  here,  cheek  by  jowl  with  the  city !  And 
between  them  nothing  but  Shark  Lane ! 

"Well!  George.'"'  she  asked  almost  nervously,  for, 
despite  the  days  that  had  passed,  her  fear  lest  that 
unlucky  letter  should  turn  up  to  give  the  lie  to  her 
husband's  protestations  on  the  part  of  the  Government, 
lingered  with  her. 

"  Only  those  two  ladies,  my  dear,"  he  answered  with 
a  certain  meritorious  air  to  which  he  had  a  perfect  right ; 
for  he  was  almost  worked  off  his  legs,  and  might  very 
excusably  have  forgotten  all  about  poor  Khojee's  appeal. 
"  Dav/kins  inquired.  They  belong  to  Jehan  Aziz's  pen- 
sioners. But  there  is  a  discrepancy.  He  says  they  are 
young  and  flighty  girls,  so  he  is  obliged  to  keep  them 
tight  —  " 

"  My  dear  George  !  she  was  as  old  as  old  —  " 

"  She  need  not  have  been  one  of  the  real  petitioners, 
my  dear.  In  fact,  seeing  that  they  are  strictly  secluded, 
I  doubt  if  she  could  be.  It  is  quite  easy  to  personate, 
when  no  one  has  any  means  of  knowing  —  " 

"  And  quite  easy  to  say  people  are  young  and  flighty, 
when  they  are  not,  if  they  cant  be  seen.  How  are  we 
to  find  out.** " 

Sir  George  looked  thoughtful.  "  I'm  afraid  we  must 
take  the  Nawab's  word.  Or,  with  his  approval,  we 
might  appoint —  " 

"  Some  one  who  would  agree  with  him,"  interrupted 


270  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Grace  impatiently.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll 
go  myself.  His  house  is  somewhere  by  the  Garden 
Gate,  isn't  it .''  Surely,  George,  there  can  be  no  objec- 
tion to  that,"  she  added,  noting  his  look. 

He  paused  a  moment ;  then  said  gravely :  "  Only 
one ;  and  that  is,  that  we  must  have  as  little  communi- 
cation with  the  city  as  possible  for  some  time  to  come, 
Grace.  Yes,"  he  continued,  as  she  looked  at  him 
startled.  "  It  is  on  us ;  but  there  is  no  need,  of  course, 
to  worry  for  the  next  few  days  at  any  rate." 

She  rose  and  stood  looking  out  of  the  window  thought- 
fully. "  You  never  can  tell,"  she  said.  "  Father  used 
always  to  say  so  to  his  young  officers :  '  Remember  that 
in  India  you  cannot  tell  what  the  next  day  may  bring 
forth.'  " 

"  Used  he  to  say  that  to  Mr.  Raymond  .-*  " 

If  a  bombshell  had  fallen  between  those  two  it  could 
scarcely  have  startled  them  both  more. 

"  George  !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Arbuthnot  reproachfully. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear,"  he  said,  going  up  to 
her  with  the  quaintest  look  of  elated  affection,  as  if  he 
were  rather  proud  of  himself ;  "  I  don't  know  why  the 
deuce  I  said  that  —  except  that  —  well  !  that  the  best  of 
us  can't  quite  forget —  I  don't  believe  you  do  —  we  are 
all  a  bit  fundamental.  However,  what  I  mean  is  that 
times  have  changed  since  your  father's  day." 

"  And  yet  you  say  every  one  is  fundamental,"  she 
interrupted  in  a  voice  that  held  both  tears  and  laughter, 
tenderness  and  a  faint  resentment.  "  And  that  is  so 
true  —  we  go  back  and  back." 

"Then  I  shall  go  back  too,"  he  replied  cheerfully. 
"  Only  I  must  give  the  New  Diplomacy  a  chance.  Be- 
sides "  —  here  an  obstinate  look  crept  over  his  face  — 
"  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  have  to  obey  orders  like  every 
one  else,  and  my  orders  are  clear;  thanks — I  don't 
mean  it  nastily  —  to  you  and  your  father.  In  fact  I'm 
very  much  obliged  to  you.  It  relieves  me  of  a  lot  of 
responsibility.  All  the  same,  I  can  assure  that  there  is 
not  the  very  faintest  chance  of  difficulty  for  the  next 


THE   PEN  AXD    THE  SIVOKD  27 1 

week  at  any  rate.  There  cannot  be — for  the  simple 
reason  that  we  are  not  going  to  offend  any  one's  prej- 
udices. For  instance,  no  search  for  plague  patients 
will  be  made  for  the  present  except  by  special  request 
of  the  natives  themselves.     So  I  really  cannot  see  —  " 

"  Is  it  likely  we  could  .''  "  asked  Grace  quickly,  "  when 
we  cannot  see  if  a  woman  is  young  or  old  .<*  —  when  we 
have  to  trust  interested  people  for  information  .'  George ! 
I  often  wonder  you  men  have  the  courage  to  rule  India, 
when  you  know  nothing  of  its  women,  except  that  there 
has  been  one  at  the  bottom  of  every  trouble  you  have 
ever  had." 

Sir  George  smiled  indulgently.  "  Well,  my  dear,  I 
hope  they  will  keep  their  fingers  out  of  this  pie." 

It  was  rather  a  vain  hope  considering  that  at  that  very 
moment  Govind  Ram's  fingers  were  all  black  wath  litho- 
graphic ink,  and  that  the  first  edition  of  his  broadsheet 
was  being  hawked  through  the  bazaars.  There  was 
quite  a  crowd  round  Dilaram's  balcony  where,  in  full 
dress,  she  sat,  defiant  yet  sullen  ;  now  refusing  to  say  a 
w'ord,  now  letting  herself  loose  in  shrill  abuse  with  dis- 
concerting candour.  She  find  recruits  for  such  as  Miss 
Leezie  .-•  Not  she  !  Though,  had  she  chosen,  she  might 
—  here  had  followed  tales  half-true,  half-false,  that  were 
listened  to,  not  with  eagerness  or  anger,  but  with  the 
calm  assent  which  is  so  much  more  dangerous,  since  it 
passes  on  to  tell  the  tale  with  additions  in  the  next 
street. 

By  evening  it  was  all  over  the  city  that  Dilaram.  and 
her  like  were  to  be  put  in  gaol  for  refusing  to  kidnap 
girls  for  the  Sirkar.  And  that  the  Sirkar  in  conse- 
quence, being  hard  put  to  it,  would  be  sure  to  make  the 
plague  —  which  the  doctors  had  discovered  that  very 
day,  though,  God  knows,  folk  had  been  dying  that  way 
for  a  week  —  an  excuse  to  search  respectable  houses  for 
recruits  to  Miss  Leezie's  profession. 

Such  a  thing  may  seem  impossible  to  those  who  have 
not  lived  in  a  native  town,  but  those  who  have,  know 
that  nothing  is  incredible  to  its  vast  curiosity,  its  still 


272  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

more  vast  ignorance.  In  the  dead  darkness  of  that,  as 
in  the  darkness  of  night,  all  voices  are  equal. 

And  so  round  the  smouldering  rubbish  heaps  and 
within  the  closed  doors  of  the  courtyards  where  the 
women  gathered,  as  in  the  bazaar,  the  tale  was  told  ; 
not  with  absolute  assurance,  but  tentatively.  So  folk 
said ;  and  so,  no  doubt,  it  had  been  in  the  past.  It  re- 
mained to  be  seen  if  it  would  be  so  in  the  present,  since 
that  was  all  poor  folk  had  to  consider.  And  as  the  tale 
was  told,  a  sound  of  sudden  wailing  would  rise  far  or 
near  in  the  city  to  prove  part  of  the  tale  was  true. 

The  plague  had  come. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE    FREEDOM    OF    DEATH 

Jehan  Aziz  had  withdrawn  his  charge  of  theft 
against  Lateefa  by  saying  that  the  whole  affair  was  a 
misunderstanding,  and  that  the  ring  was  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  Nawabin  to  whom  it  really  belonged.  It 
had  been  returned  to  her  without  his  knowledge ;  etcet- 
era, etcetera,  etcetera  ! 

Now  a  monopoly  in  lies  gives  freedom,  but  when  you 
have  an  accomplice  whose  fertility  of  imagination  ex- 
ceeds your  own,  there  is  tyranny  in  them.  Jehan  found 
this  out  when  Lateefa,  after  one  silent  second  of  sur- 
prise, had  grasped  the  position,  and  instantly  claimed 
his  right  to  lie  also.  For  in  India  false  accusation  is  a 
sort  of  personal  duel  in  which  the  challenger,  having 
chosen  his  weapon,  cannot  complain  of  his  opponent's 
more  skilful  use  of  it. 

So  Lateefa  had  launched  into  corroborative  evidence 
of  the  most  startling  description.  Did  not  the  Nawab- 
sahib  remember  this,  and  that }  And  Jehan  had  remem- 
bered.    What  else  could  he  do  .■' 

But  he  felt  it  was  dangerous  work,  and  was  glad 
when  Lateefa's  audience  was  confined  to  the  coach- 
man who  drove  them  back  to  the  city,  in  the  wagonette 
lined  with  red  flannel  and  tied  up  with  string !  Yet,  all 
the  time  that  he  was  enlarging,  Lateefa  was  wondering 
if  there  was  any  truth  whatever  in  the  story  he  had 
been  confirming. 

Had  the  ring  really  been  found .'' 

The  fact  that  Burkut  Ali  was  waiting  to  receive  them 
in  the  little  house  next  Dilaram's,  inclined  him  to  believe 
it  was  not,  and  that  there  was  still  some  scheming  afoot. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  ring  might  really  be  lost. 

T  273 


274  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

The  kite  might  have  fluttered  down  in  the  next  court- 
yard, or  the  next.     It  was  a  pure  chance. 

His  first  glance  into  the  little  backyard,  however, 
showed  him  that  the  chance  had  been  in  his  favour.  He 
had  the  eyes  of  a  hawk,  and,  even  from  a  distance,  could 
see,  not  only  that  those  were  the  kites  crumpled  in  one 
corner,  but  that  the  precious  morsel  of  ballast  was  still 
in  its  place. 

And  this  knowledge  gave  him,  instantly,  an  enormous 
advantage  over  the  two  plotters,  to  whom  it  was,  of 
course,  inconceivable  that  he  should,  already,  know  for 
a  certainty  that  the  ring  had  not  been  found. 

So  when,  in  the  most  natural  manner  in  the  world, 
they  congratulated  each  other  on  his  being  freed  from 
a  false  accusation  in  time  to  allow  of  his  making  kites 
for  the  annual  competition  amongst  the  immediate 
members  of  the  Royal  Family,  for  what  was  called 
the  "Sovereignty  of  Air,"  he  assented  cheerfully  and 
waited  for  them  to  go  further.  Which  they  did,  by  say- 
ing that  as  it  was  most  important  to  have  the  best  of 
kites,  he  had  better  go  back  to  the  old  workshop,  since 
the  courtyard  here  was  too  narrow  and  sunless  to  dry 
the  paste  and  paper  quick  enough.  Indeed,  the  last 
kites  he  had  made  there  had  flown  askew. 

Here  Lateefa  crossed  to  the  battered  ones  in  the 
corner,  and  shook  his  head  over  them  solemnly.  It  was 
true,  he  said,  such  kites  would  ill  carry  the  honour  of 
kings.  Yet,  since  he  had  none  too  much  leisure  —  if 
the  trial  was  to  be  in  two  days'  time  —  he  would  waste 
no  good  daylight  in  moving  tools.  That  could  be  done 
at  any  hour,  and  leave  him  half-a-day's  work  here. 

On  which  Jehan  and  Burkut  winked  at  each  other, 
thinking  it  evident  that  he  was  falling  into  the  trap,  and 
was  manoeuvring  for  an  opportunity  of  getting  at  his 
hiding-place.  So  they  gave  it  to  him,  discreetly,  by 
playing  cards  meanwhile  on  the  string  bed  set  this  time 
witJiin  the  room  across  the  doorway  ;  thus  combining 
complete  isolation  with  comparative  freedom.  Whereat 
Lateefa  smiled  to  himself. 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  DEATH  2/5 

It  was  quite  a  happy  little  family  party,  and  Lateefa 
sang,  as  usual,  of  "oughts"  and  "naughts"  as  he 
worked ;  sang  all  the  more  cheerfully  when  those  two 
began  to  yawn. 

He  kept  them  at  the  yawning,  out  of  pure  mischief, 
until  it  was  almost  dark ;  then  he  piled  the  kites  he  had 
made  in  the  corner,  tied  his  tools  into  a  bundle,  and 
asked  the  card-players  politely  to  let  him  pass. 

Whereupon,  as  he  knew  they  would,  they  closed  the 
door  and  stripped  him.  He  did  not  expostulate.  He 
seemed  to  think  it  quite  right  that  they  should  thus 
prove  the  truth  of  their  own  words.  He  had  not,  he 
confessed,  been  sure,  before,  of  the  assertion  that  the 
ring  was  in  the  Nawabin's  possession.  He  had  thought 
that,  perhaps,  the  Light-of-the-Universe  had  retained  it 
himself.     Now  it  was  evident  that  he  had  not. 

And  then,  refusing  to  resume  any  clothing  except  a 
mere  waist-cloth  of  decency,  or  to  take  his  tools  or  any- 
thing which  might  cause  suspicion  to  go  with  him,  he 
went  out  into  the  bazaars,  leaving  those  two  cursing,  and 
swearing,  and  wondering  if  by  chance  they  had  hit  on 
the  right  lie  !  Had  the  ring  really  found  its  way  to  the 
ruined  palace  which  was  the  only  other  relic  of  kingship 
remaining  to  the  Rightful  Heir  of  all }  And  even  that 
possession  was  burdened  by  conditions  ! 

It  is  impossible  to  overestimate  what  the  loss  of  abso- 
lute power  means  to  men  like  Jehan  Aziz  who  had 
nothing  to  take  its  place.  As  a  rule,  when  their  per- 
sonal interests  do  not  clash  with  their  environments, 
they  only  grin  horribly,  and  contrive  to  bear  the  loss. 
But  when,  as  Jehan  Aziz  did,  they  feel  enmeshed  in  a 
network  of  petty  limitations,  their  impotent  arrogance 
finds  the  position  intolerable. 

As  he  flung  himself  angrily  once  more  on  the  eternal 
string  bed,  he  felt  that  the  only  thing  which  would 
satisfy  him  was  the  grip  upon  his  finger  of  a  gold 
circlet  set  with  a  green  stone,  on  which  was  scratched 
the  kingly  legend. 

And  despite  Burkut's  help  he  had  failed  to  get  it ;  as 
yet  — 


2/6  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Meanwhile  Lateefa,  naked  as  he  was  born  —  save  for 
his  rag  of  decency  and  an  embroidered  skull-cap  of  inex- 
pressibly filthy  white  muslin  set  on  the  oily,  grizzled  hair 
that  hung  in  an  inward  curve  about  his  ears  —  was  at 
large  in  the  gutters  and  lanes,  feeling  the  freedom  of  a 
bird  newly  escaped  from  a  cage.  His  last  sense  of  alle- 
giance to  the  Nawab  had  gone  ;  he  had  not  yet  attached 
himself  to  the  Nawabin.  He  did  not  really  care  much 
as  to  the  fate  of  the  ring.  It  had  been  more  a  desire  to 
outmatch  their  cunning,  than  any  hope  of  keeping  his 
promise  to  Khojee,  that  had  made  him  transfer  the 
precious  ballast  —  as  he  had  done  in  the  leisure  afforded 
him  by  that  discreet  game  of  cards  —  from  the  old  kite 
to  a  new  one,  and  leave  it  in  the  pile.  It  was  a  trifle 
safer  there ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  any  one  might  find 
it  at  any  time.  If  so,  it  would  be  the  fault  of  Fate.  Not 
Lateefa's,  as  it  would  have  been  had  he  been  foolish 
enough  to  try  and  take  the  ring,  or  even  the  kites  with 
him.     That  would  have  been  fatal. 

So  as,  with  a  twopenny-halfpenny  wisp  of  a  muslin 
scarf  he  borrowed  from  a  friend,  superadded  to  his 
costume  —  or  the  lack  of  it  —  and  a  certain  soft 
brilliance  of  opium  in  his  eyes,  the  kitemaker  lounged 
about  in  the  more  disreputable  quarters  of  the  town, 
listening  to  tales  and  telling  them  with  equal  indifference, 
he  was,  in  a  way,  the  spirit  of  an  Indian  bazaar  incar- 
nate. Truth  had  gone  from  him  utterly.  In  its  place 
had  come  an  impersonal  appreciation  of  the  value  of 
vice  or  virtue  as  a  mere  ingredient  of  anecdote,  and  an 
absolute  lack  of  responsibility  for  the  result  of  his  ad- 
mixture of  good  and  evil. 

Therefore,  as  he  sat  crouched  up  in  the  corner  of  a 
frail  lady's  reception  room,  fingering  a  lute  which  he 
had  found  there,  and  trilling  softly  of  "oughts"  and 
"naughts"  while  she  retailed  the  latest  lies  to  the 
shifting  audience  which  came  and  went  up  and  down 
the  steep  musk-scented  stairs,  he  was  at  once  a  thing 
dreadful,  a  thing  pathetic.  For  his  keen  face,  seen  by 
the  smoking  oil  lamps  set  high  in  a  brass  trefoil  before 


THE  FREEDOM   OF  DEATH  2/7 

the  mistress  of  the  house,  was  alight  with  a  sensuous 
spirituahty,  and  his  lean  figure,  so  listless  in  its  lounge, 
was  instinct  with  that  power  of  energy,  of  spring,  that 
shows  even  in  a  sleeping  tiger. 

"  Lo,  thou  in  the  corner  !  "  came  the  narrator's  voice  ; 
"  hold  thy  peace.  What  are  thy  '  oughts  '  and  *  naughts  ' 
to  us  of  the  bazaar .?  Take  them  to  thy  virtuous 
beauties  who  leave  messages  for  thee  at  Dilaram's  —  at 
Dilaram's  forsooth!  an  odd  '  post-a)-ffis'  '^  for  virtue! 
And  so,  my  masters,"  she  went  on,  "the  dagJidars"^  — 
there  were  five  of  them  —  carried  the  woman  off  by 
force,  and  —  " 

Lateefa  was  not  one  of  the  breathless  listeners.  He 
was  winking  elaborately  at  the  buxom  assistant  who  was 
handing  round  the  sherbets,  and  asking  irresponsibly, 
"  Didst  leave  a  message  for  me  at  Dilaram's,  beloved } " 

"  Not  I,  fool !  "  she  giggled  ;  "  thou  must  be  drunk  in- 
deed to  think  virtue  fits  me.  Yet  it  is  true.  One  such  did 
come  when  I  was  at  Dilaram's  with  her —  "  She  nod- 
ded to  the  speaker  —  who,  having  reached  her  climax, 
was  becoming  dramatic,  the  Hght  before  her  making  her 
face  all  eyes  and  lips  —  "  An  old  body  —  out  on  thee  for 
thy  bad  taste,  Lateef  !  And  she  says,  says  she,  '  Tell 
Lateef  of  the  house  of  the  Nawab  that  it  is  well  with  us 
in  the  prison  —  that  we  want  no  service.'  See  you, 
friends.^  not  even  his!  Nay,  take  it  not  to  heart, 
beloved !  there  be  others  less  unkind." 

But  Lateefa  had  risen  with  a  sudden  sense  of  some- 
thing beyond  his  present  freedom  ;  that  freedom  from 
truth,  clothes,  kite-making,  above  all  things,  from  the 
methods  of  the  police  !  And  that  something  was  Auntie 
Khojee.  For  the  messenger,  he  felt,  could  have  been 
no  one  else.  Why  had  she  come  to  say  it  was  well  with 
her.  Had  they  made  her  do  so  .-*  And  if  so,  what  had 
they  been  doing  to  those  helpless  women  .'*  What  they 
could  have  done,  had  they  dared,  Lateefa  knew  only  too 
well ;  and  his  brain  was  too  confused  to  remember  that 

^  Post-office.  2  Doctors. 


278  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

had  they  dared,  they  would  scarcely  have  bidden  hhti  go 
back  to  his  workshop  in  the  old  palace. 

His  feet  were  as  confused  as  his  brain,  but,  in  or  out 
of  the  gutter,  they  steered  him  pretty  straight  for  the 
big  iron-studded  door  with  the  little  wicket  in  it  beneath 
the  nanbat  kJiana. 

"  Khojee ! "  he  called  cautiously,  rattling  at  the 
wicket ;  for  it  was  barred,  as  usual,  at  night.  There  was 
no  answer.  He  raised  his  voice  —  "Auntie  Khojee,  it 
is  Lateef  !     Rise,  sister,  and  let  me  in." 

She  ought  to  have  heard  that;  for  he  knew  her  to 
be  a  light  sleeper.  He  paused  doubtfully.  Was  she 
simply  asleep,  or  had  those  two  been  at  work  .-'  Then  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  had  been  a  fool  not  to  ask  the 
sherbet-hander  w/ien  the  message  had  been  left  at  Dila- 
ram's.  It  might  have  been  that  very  day,  in  which  case 
he  could  afford  to  postpone  his  inquiries  till  the  mor- 
row. He  must  find  out.  That  was  the  first  thing  to  be 
done. 

Late  as  it  was  growing,  there  was  no  slackening,  as 
yet,  in  the  tide  of  Hfe  ebbing  and  flowing  through  the 
bazaars,  when  he  returned  to  them.  Everybody  in 
the  city  seemed  astir,  and  he  hastily  turned  his  face  to  the 
lamp-sprinkled  caverns  of  the  arcaded  shops,  as  he  saw 
Burkut  Ali  and  Jehan  Aziz  coming  towards  him  in  the 
crov/d.  They  passed  him  talking  together  in  low  tones, 
and  he  looked  after  them  doubtfully.  Were  they  simply 
promenading,  as  half  the  town  seemed  to  be  doing,  or — .■* 

Their  sudden  turn  down  a  by-lane  decided  him.  He 
followed  cautiously. 

Alike  though  the  bazaars  and  the  by-ways  of  a  native 
city  are  in  form,  the  change  of  atmosphere  between 
them  is  striking  beyond  words.  So  here,  within  a 
whisper  of  unceasing  talk  and  movement,  Lateefa  found 
all  silent,  deserted.  Lightless  too  ;  except  when  a  far- 
thing rushlight  at  a  niched  shrine  where  two  lanes  crossed, 
shone  on  the  black  slime  in  the  gutters,  as  if  it  had  been 
ink,  and  showed  the  glistening  black  streaks  upon  the 
windowless  walls,  down  which  the  sewage  from  the  upper 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  DEATH  279 

stories  of  the  tall  houses  trickled  to  the  sewage  below. 
Here  and  there  a  dog  slunk  in  the  shadows  ;  here  and 
there  a  woman  crept  furtively  from  doorway  to  doorway. 
And  overhead,  with  a  fathomless  depth  of  purple  in 
which  the  stars  seemed  trivial  bits  of  tinsel,  a  notched 
ribbon  of  sky  showed  between  the  turreted  roofs. 

A  garland  of  marigolds  —  sending  their  curious  odour 
into  the  general  compound  of  smells  as  they  hung  over 
a  closed  door  —  and  a  muffled  sound  of  women's 
laughter  told  of  a  marriage  within.  A  knife  —  still 
swinging  from  the  touch  of  the  last  visitor — and  a  louder 
shrill  of  voices  drowning  a  woman's  cries,  told  of  birth. 
And  that  faint  whimper  —  practised,  conventional  — 
meant  death ! 

All  three  within  closed  doors. 

And  now,  from  the  vantage-ground  of  the  last  turn, 
Lateefa  waited  and  watched  those  two  go  on.  Had 
they  been  there  before .''  Had  they  the  means  of 
entry  } 

No!  The  rattle  of  the  wicket  sounded  loudly;  then 
the  voice  of  authority  —  "  Open  !  Open  to  the  Master ! 
Open  to  the  Nawab  !  " 

Even  to  that  there  was  no  answer,  and  as  the  two 
looked  at  each  other,  Pehan's  face  was  fierce  with  rage. 
"  'Tis  as  thou  saidst,  when  Dilaram  spoke  of  the  mes- 
sage," he  muttered  savagely.  "They  are  in  league! 
Lateef  is  here,  and  means  to  defy  us." 

Then  he  raised  his  voice  and  called  again,  "Open! 
Open  to  the  Possessor !     Open  to  the  Master  !  " 

A  door  or  two  down  the  alley  creaked  ajar,  showing 
dim  white-sheeted  figures  of  wonder ;  for  that  was  not 
a  call  to  be  ignored. 

Lateefa,  from  his  corner,  wondered  still  more.  What 
could  have  happened  .'*  Something,  evidently,  about 
which  those  two  knew  nothing. 

A  man  who  had  pushed  past  the  dim  shadows  into 
the  lane,  started  the  question  as  to  when  the  door  had 
last  been  seen  open  ;  whereat  voices  came  from  the  dim 
shadows  in  answer.     One  had  not  seen  it  so  these  three 


28o  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

days,  others  had  noticed  Khojee's  limp  that  morning. 
The  voices  grew  contentious  over  the  point,  so  that 
Naw^b  Jehan  Aziz  growled  a  curse  under  his  breath, 
and  turned  away  savagely. 

"  Come,  Burkut,"  he  said,  "  did  I  not  tell  thee  they 
could  not  have  arrived  by  now .''  The  paper  at  the 
'  estation '  says  the  mail  is  '  change-time.'  Let  me 
pass,  good  -folk,"  he  went  on  irritably  to  the  little  group 
that  hung  round,  curious.  "  Can  a  body  not  come  to 
see  if  his  family  be  returned  from  a  journey  without 
the  neighbours  crowding  out .''  " 

The  remark  was  plausible  explanation  enough  ;  but 
as  the  two  passed  Lateefa  in  the  dark,  Jehan  could  be 
heard  girding  at  Burkut.  Why  had  he  suggested  com- 
ing on  the  sly  .''  It  would  be  all  over  the  town  how  that 
Jehan's  women  had  refused  him  entrance.  He,  Burkut, 
would  be  suggesting  the  police  next. 

"  Not  the  police,  my  lord,"  came  Burkut's  suave,  cun- 
ning voice ;  "  there  be  better  ways  of  gaining  entry 
than  that  nowadays  !  " 

When  they  had  gone,  and  the  lane  —  with  clucks  of 
incredulity  and  remarks  that  it  was  time  some  folk 
refused  to  be  treated  scandalously —  had  settled  behind 
closed  doors  again,  Lateefa  stole  back  to  the  wicket. 

Once  more  he  had  the  advantage.  He  knew  that  it 
was  no  obstinacy  induced  by  his  presence  which  kept  the 
inmates  silent.  And  Jehan  had  made  noise  enough  to 
wake  the  dead. 

The  dead  .?  But  they  could  not  all  be  dead  !  A  vast 
curiosity,  more  than  any  apprehension,  made  Lateefa 
look  up  to  the  balcony  of  the  nanbat  kJiniia  and  wonder 
if  he  could  climb  to  it.  Once  there,  the  shutters  he 
knew  were  rotten.  It  seemed  possible  —  if  a  foothold 
or  two  were  picked  out  of  the  crumbling  brick,  and  a 
rope  hitched  on  to  an  iron  hook  he  knew  of,  some  ten 
feet  up  the  wall.  In  fact,  given  a  quiet  hour  or  so,  he 
would  undertake  to  make  a  felonious  entry  somehow. 
But  it  was  too  early  in  the  night  to  try.  The  time  for 
such  work  came  with  the  false  dawn  when  sleep  simu- 


THE  FREEDOM   OF  DEATH  28 1 

lated  death.  And  that  was  —  how  many  hours  away? 
He  did  not  know,  or  care.  In  that  strange  Hfe  of  the 
bazaars,  night  was  as  day.  No  question  of  bed-time 
entered  into  it ;  so,  sooner  or  later,  he  would  see  that 
the  hour  he  waited  for  had  come,  by  the  look  on  those 
ribbons  of  sky  between  the  close-packed  houses ;  that 
network  of  sky,  following  the  pattern  of  the  network  of 
streets  and  alleys,  which  was  all  that  thousands  in  the 
city  knew  of  the  heaven  above  it. 

The  bazaars  were  scarcely  more  empty,  when  once 
again  he  returned  to  them  ;  but  they  were  less  noisy. 
Many  voices  had  dwindled  to  one  voice ;  the  voice  of 
the  tale-teller.  Therefore  the  voice  of  the  most  imagi- 
native mind  in  the  assemblage. 

Lateefa  listened  here,  listened  there,  curious,  indiffer- 
ent, receptive ;  approving  —  as  the  East  always  ap- 
proves —  the  voice  with  authority  that  speaks  not  as 
the  scribes. 

He  wandered  here,  he  wandered  there ;  even,  with 
that  absorbing  inquisitiveness  of  his,  into  the  courtyard 
common  to  Dilaram  and  her  neighbours.  Her  balcony 
was  dark  and  silent ;  the  police,  he  told  himself,  had 
likely  been  bothering  her.  But  the  light,  and  the  sound 
of  a  crank  in  Govind's  room,  meant  a  special  edition  of 
lies.  Then  with  his  ear  to  the  chink  of  the  door  below 
he  could  hear  Burkut  AU's  voice;  then  Jehan's  — 
louder,  shrill  with  protest  or  anger.  They  were  quar- 
relling, likely,  over  drink  or  cards. 

Yet  Burkut  was  sober  enough  when  —  barely  giving 
time  for  Lateefa  to  find  shelter  behind  the  eternal 
string  bed  which  was  now  reared  up  against  the  wall  — 
he  came  out  into  the  yard. 

"Fool  !"  he  muttered  as  he  passed,  "not  to  see  his 
own  good.  As  if  it  mattered.  He  would  get  house  and 
all.     Mayhap  he  will  be  drunk  enough  by  morning." 

What  new  villainy  was  he  planning .''  Lateefa  pon- 
dered over  the  question  as  he  drifted  on. 

The  time  of  felonies  was  near,  for  the  dogs  were  for- 
getting to   skulk ;    a  sign  that  men  were  fewer  in  the 


282  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

lanes  and  streets.  Here  and  there,  round  an  ebbing 
flicker  of  light,  listeners  lingered,  and  a  drowsy  voice 
droned  on ;  but  for  the  most  part  the  cavernous  arcades 
showed  still  white-swathed  sleepers,  simulating  death. 

This,  however,  coming  swiftly  down  the  bazaar  — 
a  strange,  swaying",  headless  body  with  many  legs,  mon- 
strous, weird,  halt-seen  —  was  death  itself  being  shuffled 
out  secretly  to  the  city  gates. 

Folks  said  true,  then.     The  plague  was  abroad ! 

He  had  found  himself  what  he  needed  for  his  task  — 
a  bit  of  old  iron,  a  bit  of  leathern  rope ;  but  when  he 
reached  the  wicket  his  first  stealthy  touch  on  it  showed 
him  he  needed  neither.  It  was  ajar.  He  pushed  it 
open  noiselessly  and  entered ;  groping  his  way,  since 
it  was  dark  in  the  archway  below  the  Jiaubut  khana. 
Beyond,  in  the  open  court,  it  was  lighter ;  yet,  even  so, 
he  stumbled  over  a  bed  set  right  in  the  entrance  as 
watchmen  set  them. 

There  was  no  one  in  it,  but  the  quilt  was  warm.  So 
some  one  had  been  there  a  moment  ago.  Some  one 
who  had  gone  out  by  the  open  door,  and  who  would 
therefore  return. 

He  crouched  in  a  recess  by  the  stairs  that  led  upwards 
and  waited.  He  had  not  to  wait  long.  A  shuffling 
step  sounded  outside,  and,  after  a  pause  to  bar  the 
wicket,  some  one  stumbled  to  the  bed.  And  then  out 
of  the  darkness  came  a  quavering  grace  before  meat, 
that  grace  which  is  also  the  prayer  of  blood-sacrifice. 

**  In  the  name  of  the  Merciful  and  Clement  God !  " 

It  had  not  needed  the  grace  to  tell  Lateefa  that  this 
was  Aunt  Khojee.  She  must  have  gone  out  to  draw 
water  from  the  well  down  the  lane,  for  the  grace  was 
fpllowed  by  the  sound  of  rapid,  thirsty  drinking.  But 
why  had  she  not  drawn  water  as  usual  from  the  well 
in  the  women's  courtyard  .-'     He  must  find  out. 

"God  quench  thy  thirst,  sister,"  he  said  piously; 
then  added,  "  fear  not,  it  is  I,  Lateef,"  for  she  had 
given  a  startled  cry  and  let  fall  the  water- vessel,  which, 
bottom  upwards,  gave    out  a  glug  glug  as   the   liquid 


THE   FREEDOM  OF  DEATH  283 

escaped  from  its  narrow  neck,  that  was  louder  than  her 
feeble  attempt  at  sobbing,  as  she  crouched  up  on  the 
bed  rocking  to  and  fro. 

It  was  all  her  fault,  she  was  very  wicked,  she  moaned  ; 
she  had  tried  to  go  into  the  streets,  she  had  tried  to  feel 
as  if  she  were  going  to  die,  but  she  could  not.  And 
then  the  thirst  had  been  so  dreadful  !  But  she  had 
only  opened  the  door  for  a  little  moment.  Who  would 
have  thought  of  any  one  stepping  in  }  And  now  he 
must  go  away,  or  she  would  kill  him  too.  Why  did  he 
not  go  when  it  was  the  plague  }  He  would  surely  die, 
and  she  did  not  want  to  kill  any  one  else.  .  .  . 

Lateefa  could  make  out  enough  of  her  ramblings  for 
comprehension,  but  he  did  not  therefore  flinch  from  the 
huddled-up  figure,  which  was  now  faintly  visible  in  the 
grey  beginnings  of  dawn.  The  fear  of  death  is  not 
easily  learned  in  the  bazaars  where,  so  long  as  it  comes 
naturally,  it  scarcely  excites  comment.  Nevertheless, 
he  cleared  his  throat  and  spat  as  Jan-Ali-shan  had  done 
in  the  garden ;  for  that  propitiatory  offering  to  the 
dread  destroyer  is  common  to  all  races  all  over  the 
world. 

"Thou  wouldst  kill  no  more  .-^  "  he  echoed,  his  curi- 
osity aroused.  "  Who  hast  killed  already  .-'  The  Nawa- 
bin  or  Khadjee,  or  both  }  " 

So  once  more,  even  there,  he  sat  listening,  listening, 
listening,  while  Khojee  rambled  through  her  tale  of  the 
green  satin  trousers,  and  her  plan  to  save  the  Nawabin 
from  being  dragged  away  and  poisoned,  which  had  been 
frustrated  by  thirst.  But  who  could  have  expected  to 
want  either  food  or  drink  — 

Lateefa  gave  a  sudden  laugh.  "  Lo  !  brave  one  !  "  he 
said,  stooping  to  pick  up  the  fallen  water-vessel,  "  and 
when  thou  hadst  got  the  drink,  thou  didst  spill  it  from 
sheer  fright  of  a  familiar  voice !  Of  a  truth,  sister, 
women  are  made  in  bits  like  a  conjurer's  puzzle.  It 
needs  a  man's  wit  to  piece  them  together.  Now  think 
not,  Khojee,"  he  continued  warningly,  "  to  shut  me 
out  whilst  I  get  thee  water.     If  thou  dost,  I  swear  by 


284  VOICES  IN   THE   NIGHT 

my  kites,  I  will  go  tell  the  daghdars  at  the  liorspitdl  to 
come  and  poison  Noormahal." 

The  fantasy  of  his  own  threat  amused  him  ;  yet  it 
roused  a  sudden  remembrance  that  others  might,  at 
least,  tell  the  doctors ;  especially  if,  after  the  scene  of 
last  night,  the  door  remained  shut.  The  neighbours, 
in  that  case,  would  begin  to  talk.  And  then  he  recol- 
lected Burkut  All's  words,  and  wondered  if  the  latter 
could  possibly  have  been  contemplating  so  vile  a  plan 
as  giving  false  information.  The  Nawab  himself  would 
not  consent.  It  was  infamy.  But  if  the  Nawab  was 
drunk } 

The  thought  was  disturbing,  so,  after  Khojee,  re- 
freshed by  the  water,  had  apparently  sunk  into  a  pro- 
found sleep,  he  went  outside,  and,  sitting  on  the 
door-lintel,  prepared  replies  to  the  questionings  which 
should  surely  come  when  folk  began  to  go  backwards 
and  forwards  to  the  well.  He  prepared,  also,  for  the 
interview  with  the  Nawabin  which  he  meant  to  have  by 
and  by.  He  meant  to  tell  her  about  the  ring,  as  an 
inducement  to  common-sense ;  the  common-sense  of  es- 
caping, while  she  could,  from  evil  to  come. 

As  he  sat,  answering  questions  and  passing  the  time 
of  day  jauntily,  he  heard  a  faint  knocking  from  within, 
a  low-voiced  "Khojee!  Khojee!  art  returned  yet.''" 
The  Nawabin  was  therefore  well ;  so,  if  Khojee  woke 
the  better  for  her  sleep,  the  whole  affair  might  be 
simple. 

The  sun  rose,  and  so  did  Lateefa's  spirits.  He  joked 
and  laughed  with  the  veiled  serving-women,  he  played 
with  the  children  when  they  began  to  drift  out  to  the 
gutters,  he  even  cast  a  gay  remark  or  two  into  the  air 
for  the  women  who  stood  on  the  roofs  gossiping.  Soon 
they  would  be  going  dov/n  into  the  courtyards,  the  doors 
would  be  closed,  and  his  opportunity  for  arguing  the 
matter  out  with  two  foolish  creatures  would  come. 

Then,  suddenly,  the  children  stopped  playing,  the 
women  scuttled  to  shelter,  and  Lateefa  rose  with  an 
awful  malediction  in  his  heart. 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  DEATH  285 

Two  Englishmen  had  come  round  the  corner,  and 
behind  them  was  Burkut  Ali. 

Then  he  had  done  it !  done  this  infamous  thing ! • 

"  It  is  a  nuisance  coming  at  the  very  beginning,"  the 
English  doctor  was  saying,  "  but  I  can't  help  myself.  And 
one  can  only  hope  it  will  give  the  lot  a  wholesome  fright." 

His  companion  shook  his  head.  "  Doubt  it.  And  to 
tell  the  truth,  I  don't  understand  this  request.  There 
is  hanky-panky,  I  feel  sure." 

The  speaker  was  Jack  Raymond.  By  pure  chance 
he  had  passed  the  hospital  on  his  morning  ride  just  as 
the  doctor  was  going  out  on  this,  his  first  search  ;  and, 
remembering  the  scene  in  the  king's  pleasure-grounds, 
the  latter  had  asked  him  to  run  his  eye  over  the  written 
request  for  inspection,  so  as  to  make  sure  there  was  no 
nonsense. 

Thus  the  names  of  Khojeeya  and  Khadeejahad  come 
to  remind  him  of  the  silk  bracelet,  at  that  moment 
reposing  with  some  bank-notes  in  his  pocket.  It  was 
not  in  Jack  Raymond  to  refuse  such  a  lead  over.  He 
had  felt,  it  is  true,  a  trifle  impatient  at  the  necessity  for 
accepting  it,  but  even  that  feeling  had  vanished  when 
Burkut  Ali,  who  met  them  where  the  lane  turned  off 
from  the  bazaar,  apologised  for  the  Nawab's  absence. 
The  latter  was  too  much  overcome,  he  said,  by  the 
sacrifice  of  dignity  required  in  thus  proving  his  devotion 
to  the  Sirkar  in  setting  such  a  good  example  to  others, 
to  attend  in  person. 

"  Hanky-panky!  "  Jack  Raymond  had  murmured  un- 
der his  breath,  with  a  thanksgiving  that  he  was  there  to 
prevent  more  villainy  than  could  be  helped. 

Lateefa  too,  seeing  Ralnnnn-snJiib,  who  was  known  to 
all  attendants  at  the  race-course,  was  glad  of  his  presence 
also,  but  for  a  curiously  different  reason.  He  was  glad, 
because  RaJmidn-sahib  was,  by  repute,  not  only  a  real 
sahib,  but,  by  repute  also,  he  understood  what  people 
said  thoroughly,  and  was  therefore  amenable  to  decep- 
tion —  that  is  to  words  generally,  true  or  false  ;  whereas 
wit  was  of  no  use  with  most  Englishmen ! 


286  VOICES  IN   THE  AUGHT 

Jack  Raymond's  first  remark,  too,  was  reassuring, 
since  it  betrayed  suspicion  of  Burkut  Ali's  good  faith. 

"  The  door  is  not  closed  against  entrance,"  he  said 
sharply.     "  Why  was  it  said  to  be  so  .''  " 

Burkut,  who  had  brought  a  most  venerable-looking 
villain  of  the  royal  house  to  back  him  up,  appealed  to 
the  neighbours,  who,  already,  had  crowded  out  to  join 
the  rabble  which  the  efforts  of  a  couple  of  constables 
had  not  succeeded  in  keeping  back.  Were  they  not 
witness,  he  asked,  that  last  night  — 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  Raymond,"  said  the  doctor  aside, 
"I've  got  to  get  through  with  it  now,  and  the  quicker 
the  better ;  so  I'd  rather  have  an  open  door  than  a  shut 
one."  He  slipped  through  the  wicket  as  he  spoke,  and 
an  odd  murmur,  half  of  horror,  half  satisfied  curiosity, 
ran  round  the  spectators. 

It  was  true,  then  !     The  Sirkar  did  do  such  things  ! 

"  There  is  no  need  for  those  two  to  come  in ;  it  isn't 
their  house,"  objected  Jack  Raymond,  as  Burkut  and 
the  venerable  villain  prepared  to  follow.  "  Stand  back, 
sahiban,"  he  added  in  Hindustani;  "and  sergeant,  when 
the  conservancy  sweepers  are  through,  close  the  wicket. 
This  is  not  a  public  spectacle." 

True.  Yet  in  a  way  the  remark  and  action,  spoken 
and  done  with  the  best  intention,  the  kindest  considera- 
tion, were  a  mistake.  They  left  a  crowd  with  nothing 
for  its  amusement  but  Khojee's  screams  of  sheer  terror 
as  she  woke  to  find  the  doctor  feeling  her  pulse.  They 
were  heart-rending,  dangerous  screams ;  and  Jack  Ray- 
mond recognising  this,  and  also  the  fact  that  the  old 
lady  was  his  petitioner  of  the  garden,  supplemented  the 
doctor's  commonplace  "Have  no  fear,  mother"  with 
something  more  ornate,  in  Persian,  which  changed  the 
screams  to  piteous  cries  of,  "  Poison  me  not !  I  will  die  ! 
Yea,  I  will  die  without  poison  !  " 

And  this  being  almost  worse,  he  tried  the  effect  of 
showing  her  the  ram  riicki,  and  asking  if  a  bracelet- 
brother  was  likely  to  do  her  any  injury ;  finally,  as  she 
only  seemed  to  grasp  bis  raeaning  vaguely,  he  fastened 
the  silken  cord  on  her  wrist. 


THE   FREEDOM    OF  DEATH  287 

Its  touch  was  magical.  She  clutched  at  the  hand  that 
had  put  it  on,  and  the  cries  died  down  to  a  whimper. 

"  Lo,  my  brother  !  Lo,  my  brother,  my  brother  !  Tell 
them  I  can  die.  Let  them  give  me  time,  and  I  will  die  ! 
Yea,  with  time  I  can  die,  as  well  as  with  poison." 

It  was  impossible  to  avoid  a  smile  ;  the  doctor,  indeed, 
laughed  cheerily.  "  No  doubt  about  that,  mother,"  he 
said  to  her  in  a  relieved  tone  of  voice,  "  but  not  just  yet. 
You  haven't  got  the  plague.  And  you  haven't  it 
either,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Lateefa.  "  That  is  two 
of  you  —  one  woman  and  a  servant.  Now,  if  you  can 
show  me  the  other  two  inmates  in  like  case,  I  can  give 
a  clean  bill.     So  where  are  they  .''     In  here  I  suppose." 

He  passed  towards  the  inner  door,  but  Lateefa  was 
there  before  him.  Sharp  as  a  needle,  the  doctor's  words 
had  made  him  see  that  Noormahal,  alone,  would  be  no 
good.  There  must  be  two  women,  or  the  tragedy  of  the 
green  satin  trousers  would  be  as  surely  discovered  as  if 
poor  Khadjee  had  not  been  buried  ;  and  that  would  mean 
a  segregation  camp,  at  best,  for  all  three  of  them.  It 
might  be  impossible  to  hoodwink  the  sahibs,  but  he 
could  try.  So  he  appealed  volubly  to  Jack  Raymond. 
This  was  infamy,  as  the  Hiczoor  knew,  to  secluded 
dames.  It  had  to  be,  of  course  ;  but  let  it  be  done  in 
the  easiest  way.  Let  the  sick  woman — she  was  none 
so  ill  but  that  she  could  do  so  much  for  humanity's 
sake  —  go  in  first  and  tell  of  the  Hnzoor's  kindness  ;  of 
how  he  was  a  bracelet-brother  (Lateefa  had,  of  course, 
grasped  this  fact  without  in  the  least  understanding  how 
it  had  happened);  no  doubt  she  would  be  able  to  per- 
suade the  secluded  ones  to  come  out  for  inspection,  and 
that  would  be  less  disgrace  than  the  invasion  by  male 
things  of  their  sacred  isolation. 

Jack  Raymond  watched  the  keen  audacious  face 
narrowly  !  then  once  more  he  said  aside  to  the  doctor, 
"  Hanky-panky ;  that  sick  woman  is  as  much  secluded 
as  the  others;  but  I'd  let  her  go.  Give  them  a  free 
hand  and  they  will  be  quieter,  if  we  find  them  out. 
Anything  is  better  than  hunting  them  down,  poor  souls  !  " 


288  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Lateefa,  therefore,  much  to  his  inward  delight  —  also 
contempt !  —  was  allowed  free  instructions  to  Aunt 
Khojee,  while  the  search-party  stood  aside. 

"We  can't  let  'em  down  easier,  can  we?"  said  the 
doctor  as  he  waited ;  and  Jack  Raymond  shook  his  head 
despondently. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "but  it's  a  brutal  business  all  the 
same  —  to  their  notions,  and  you  can't  change  them  in  a 
hurry." 

Meanwhile  Lateefa's  instructions  ran  in  this  fashion. 
Khojee  was  to  tell  Noormahal  that  the  big  \^oxA-saliib 
had  sent  the  bracelet-brother  to  fetch  her  to  a  private 
interview.  That  the  state  dhoolies  were  waiting.  That 
all  was  of  the  strictest  ceremonial.  On  that  point  she 
had  a  free  hand.  She  was  to  say  anything  which  would 
induce  the  Nawabin  to  come  out.  And  she  herself  was 
to  change  her  dress  swiftly  and  personate  Khadjee.  It 
was  a  chance  —  the  Huzoors  might  not  think  of  seeing 
the  three  women  together.  So,  with  a  parting  admoni- 
tion to  be  brave,  he  pushed  the  tottering  Khojee  through 
the  inner  door,  closed  it,  and  turned  to  the  two  English- 
men appealingly. 

"  The  Huzoors  must  giv'e  time,  for  it  is  as  death  to 
noble  ladies  to  see  strangers  ;  but  the  old  woman  will  tell 
them  that  the  Huzoors  are  as  their  fathers  and  mothers. 
May  God  promote  them  to  be  Lords." 

"  Hanky-panky  !  "  remarked  Jack  Raymond  again, 
"  but  it  can't  do  any  harm." 

"  No,"  assented  the  doctor. 

There  was  no  one  there  to  remind  them  that  that  is  a 
formula  which  can  never  be  safely  used  in  India,  or  to 
repeat,  as  Grace  Arbuthnot  had  repeated,  a  lifelong  ex- 
perience embodied  in  the  words  —  "  You  can  never  tell." 

"  They  are  a  long  time  coming,"  said  the  doctor 
aggrievedly.  He  was  up  to  his  eyes  in  work,  and  he 
had  waited  five  minutes,  ten  minutes,  patiently,  silently. 
So  had  the  crowd  outside  silently,  but  impatiently. 

"Husoor!"'  protested  Lateefa  from  the  door,  "to 
noble  ladies  it  is  as  death  —  " 


THE  FREEDOM  OF  DEATH  289 

He  broke  off,  for  a  sudden  shriek  rose  from  within  ; 
another ;  another ;  and  above  them  a  woman's  voice 
shrill,  awful,  in  its  intensity  of  scorn  — 

"  Lies  !  Lies  !  Lies  !  Stand  back,  fool,  thief,  liar  !  " 
And  mixed  with  these  words  were  others  in  agonised 
appeal  —  "  Nay  !  Noormahal !  Lateef  !  Help  !  God 
and  his  prophet !     Thou  shalt  not!     Noormahal !  " 

Lateefa  seemed  paralysed  —  uncertain  what  to  do. 
But  Jack  Raymond,  the  doctor  at  his  heels,  had  the  door 
open.  They  were  through  it  in  a  second.  His  first 
glance  within,  however,  made  the  former  grip  the  latter's 
arm  with  a  grip  of  iron,  and  whisper  breathlessly  — 

"  Keep  still,  man  ;  it's  the  only  chance." 

For,  in  the  centre  of  that  inner  courtyard,  standing  — 
arrested  for  a  second  by  the  opening  of  the  door  —  on 
the  parapet  of  the  wide  wall,  was  a  tall  white-robed  figure, 
its  face  distorted  by  passion,  its  black  eyes  blazing. 

"  Lateef  !  Help  !  "  moaned  Khojee,  who  was  clinging 
frantically,  uselessly,  to  one  corner  of  the  long  white 
veil.  "  She  is  mad  !  the  ring  !  —  I  had  to  dress  —  and 
she  too  —  for  the  Y^oxdi-saJiib  —  and  it  was  not  there  !  I 
told  you  how  it  would  be  —  it  is  the  ring  !  " 

An  awful  laugh  echoed  through  the  courtyard. 

"  Yea  !  the  ring  !  the  ring !  "  repeated  Noormahal 
mockingly.  "  Sa'adut's  ring  —  the  Ring  of  Kingship. 
Liar  !  Lo  !  I  could  kill  thee  for  the  lie.  It  is  not  there 
—  Noormahal !  Mother  of  Kings,  dost  hear  }  It  is  not 
there — it  was  not  there  when  I  went  to  find  it." 

There  was  self-pity,  amazement,  now,  in  the  voice 
which  had  begun  so  recklessly,  and  Jack  Raymond  — 
watching  the  figure  with  every  nerve  and  muscle  tense 
for  action  —  breathed  a  quick  breath  of  relief ;  for  self- 
pity  meant  almost  the  only  hope  of  averting  the  mad 
leap  there  was  so  little  chance  of  preventing. 

But  Lateefa's  high  voice  followed  sharply,  almost  ex- 
ultingly  — 

"  What  then  .-'  "  he  cried,  "  when  I  have  it  safe  !  Yea  ! 
Mother  of  Kings  !  The  ring  is  safe.  I  swear  it.  I  have 
it  yonder  in  the  bazaar —  in  the  Nawab's  house  —  I  —  " 


290  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

He  paused,  compelled  to  silence  by  her  face,  by  the 
outstretched  hand  which,  falling  from  its  appeal  to  high 
Heaven,  pointed  its  finger  at  him  accusingly. 

"  Dost  hear  him  ?  "  she  asked  mincingly,  and  Jack 
Raymond  instinctively  moved  a  step  nearer.  '*  He,  the 
pandar,  hath  the  ring  safe ;  safe  in  the  bazaar ;  safe  in 
the  Nawab's  house  ;  safe  for  the  Nawab's  bride  —  " 

"  Look  out !  "  shouted  Jack  Raymond,  dashing  forward, 
for  he  knew  what  that  thought  would  bring. 

But  he  was  too  late.  With  one  cry  of  "  Liars,"  one 
horrid  laugh,  the  slender  white  figure  leaped  into  the 
air,  the  veil — detained  uselessly  in  Khojee's  helpless 
hold  —  falling  from  the  small  sleek  head ;  and  the 
Nawabin  Noormahal,  the  Light-of-Palaces,  went  down 
as  she  had  stood,  mocking,  defiant,  into  the  depth  of  the 
well ;  the  last  thing  seen  of  her,  those  wild  appealing 
hands. 

And  outside  the  crowd  was  listening,  eager  to  find 
fault,  eager  for  a  tragedy  to  tell  in  the  bazaars. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ON    THE    BED    ROCK 

"  Mv  dear  Chris,  if  you  insist  on  going  to  see  your 
mother  in  that  horrid  filthy  city  where,  every  one  knows, 
the  plague  has  regularly  begun,"  said  Mrs.  Chris  Dav- 
enant  to  her  husband,  "  I  won't  stop  in  your  house. 
That's  an  end  of  it.  I  don't  see  why  I  should.  Of 
course,  if  it  was  your  duty  to  inspect,  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  I'd  have  to  grin  and  bear  it.  But  it  isn't ;  so 
you  can't  expect  me  to  run  the  risk." 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  see  my  mother,"  replied  Chris, 
with  that  faint  pomp  which  is  inseparable  in  the  native 
from  a  virtuous  sentiment,  be  it  ever  so  trite. 

She  laughed,  quite  good-naturedly.  **  The  fact  is, 
Chris,  you've  an  awkward  team  of  duties  to  drive;  but 
a  man's  got  to  leave  his  father  and  mother,  you  know. 
Not  that  I  want  you  to  leave  yours.  Go  to  her,  by  all 
means,  if  you  want  to,  but  in  that  case  I  shall  go  where 
/  want." 

"  And  where  is  that  ?"  he  asked  almost  fiercely. 

She  laughed  again.  "  To  the  hotel,  of  course.  My 
dear  Chris,  I  am  not  a  fool.  Not  as  a  rule,  I  mean, 
though  I  was  one,  of  course,  when  I  married  you.  But 
you  were  a  greater  fool  in  marrying  me ;  for  you  knew 
you  were  a  bit  of  a  prig,  and  I  didn't !  However,  let's 
drop  that,  though,  as  I've  told  you  before,  the  best 
thing  for  you  to  do  would  be  to  let  me  slide  and  marry 
your  cousin  —  " 

"Will  you  hold  your  tongue,"  he  burst  out,  almost 
as  an  Englishman  might  have  done,  and  she  raised  her 
eyebrows  and  nodded  approvingly. 

"  Bravo,  Chris  !  that  was  very  nearly  right  — but  as  you 

291 


292  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

don't  favour  that  easy  solution,  you  must  stick  to  me. 
You  can't  eat  your  cake  and  have  it,  my  dear  boy. 
If  you  marry  a  civilised  woman,  you  must  behave  as 
sich.  And  civilised  people  don't  run  the  risk  of  infec- 
tion needlessly.  They  don't  go  and  see  their  relations 
if  —  though  of  course  no  civiUsed  person's  mother 
would  live  in  a  dirty  plague-stricken  town  by  choice, 
would  she  ? " 

Poor  Chris !  If  he  had  not  been  so  civilised  himself, 
if  he  had  not  been  such  a  good  sort,  he  could  have 
faced  the  position  better ;  but  he  saw  the  justice  of  hers. 
"  I  think  if  she  were  sick  "  —  he  began. 

She  gave  a  little  scream.  "  Sick  !  my  dear  Chris  ! 
that  settles  it.  I  can't  have  you  bringing  back  microbes. 
It  —  it  isn't  fair  on  its,  you  know.  And  there  are  a  lot 
of  jolly  globe-trotters  at  the  hotel  —  one  of  them  says  he 
knew  me  in  London." 

There  was  a  world  of  regret  in  her  tone,  and  the 
pity  of  it,  the  hideous  mistake  for  Jiej'  came  home  to 
Chris.  "  There  is  no  reason,"  he  said,  in  a  sort  of  de- 
spair, "why  I  should  turn  you  out  of  this"  — here  he 
gave  a  hard  sort  of  laugh  —  "I  don't  really  care  for  it, 
you  know,  Viva,  though  I  used  to  think  I  did.  So  you 
had  better  stop  here,  and  —  I'll  —  I'll  go." 

The  pity  of  the  hideous  mistake  for  him  came  home 
even  to  her.  "  Where  .''  "  she  asked.  "  You  won't  go  and 
live  in  that  awful  city  —  you  mustn't  do  that.  You're 
not  like  them,  you  know;  you'd  die  of  it." 

He  felt  it  was  true ;  that  he  belonged  to  No-man's- 
land. 

.  "  Perhaps  that  would  be  the  best  solution  of  the  diffi- 
culty," he  said  gloomily,  with  a  sententiousness  which 
quite  took  the  pathos  from  the  remark. 

She  looked  at  him  gloomily  in  her  turn  with  a  cer- 
tain exasperation.  "  Oh  !  if  you  want  to,  of  course  ;  but, 
my  dear  Chris,  do  you  really  think  I'm  worth  that  sort 
of  thing ;  from  your  point  of  view,  I  mean  .''  " 

Something  about  her  as  she  stood,  dainty  as  ever, 
reminded    him   of    those    days  in   the    boarding-house 


ON   THE  BED   ROCK  293 

down  the  Hammersmith  Road,  when  India,  and  that 
part  of  himself  which  belonged  to  India,  had  seemed 
so  very  far  off.     He  took  a  step  nearer  to  her. 

"You  might  be.  Viva,  you  might  be." 

She  drew  back.  "  In  fifty  years'  time,  perhaps," 
she  repHed  shrewdly  —  for,  as  she  said,  she  was  no 
fool.  "Why,  Chris!  can't  you  see  that  you  have  just 
gone  dotty  over  the  new  idea  of  woman  as  a  helpmeet, 
and  companion,  and  that  sort  of  '  biz.'  And  I  —  why 
—  we  girls  have  left  it  behind  us  a  bit  in  England,  now- 
adays." 

The  fatal  truth  of  her  remarks  invariably  silenced 
Chris,  born  as  he  was  of  a  long  line  of  men  to  whom 
argument  was  a  religion. 

"  Well !  good-bye,  Viva,  I  will  try  and  not  trouble  you 
any  more,"  he  said,  accepting  defeat  with  a  pang  of 
remorse  at  his  own  readiness  to  do  so,  at  the  sense  of 
relief  which  would  not  be  ignored. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Don't  be  so  tragic, 
please.  And  remember  I  didn't  send  you  away.  You 
want  to  go  visiting  your  mother  in  the  city,  and  I'm 
quite  willing  you  should,  provided  you  take  proper  pre- 
cautions ;  so  good-bye,  and  take  care  of  yourself.  There 
is  nothing  to  worry  about.  You  are  up  to  the  ropes 
there,  and  I  am  up  to  them  here,  so  there  is  no  harm 
done." 

Chris,  however,  as  he  packed  a  portmanteau  of  neces- 
saries, felt  that  though  this  might  be  true  for  the 
present,  and  though  —  so  far  as  she  was  concerned  — 
it  might  even  remain  true,  it  was  a  different  affair  for 
him  ;  there  was  danger  ahead  in  his  future. 

And  this  became  more  and  more  certain,  as,  in  pack- 
ing, he  had  to  decide  on  what  were  necessaries  and  what 
were  not.  For  that  depended  so  much  on  the  sort  of 
life  you  were  going  to  lead.  And  what  sort  of  life  zvas 
he  going  to  lead  .-* 

He  ended  by  taking  very  little  ;  but  amongst  that  lit- 
tle were  two  things  which,  though  they  both  contained 
the  staple  of  life  —  common  corn  —  could  scarcely  be 


294  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

called  necessaries.  Man,  however,  does  not  live  by 
bread  alone. 

So  he  put  these  and  himself  into  a  hired  green  box  on 
wheels,  and  drove  to  a  lodging  he  knew  of,  close  to  the 
city,  yet  not  of  it.  It  was  in  the  upper  part  of  a  house 
used  as  a  meeting-place  by  the  Brahmo  Somaj,  who,  by 
this  means,  paid  the  rent  of  the  quaint,  semi-European- 
ised  building.  It  stood  in  a  bit  of  garden,  thick  with  plan- 
tains, between  which  two  straight  mud  walks  and  a  curved 
one  showed  curiously  black  and  damp,  as  if  the  soil  was 
sodden  with  sewage,  as  it  may  have  been.  But  upstairs, 
when  the  green  shutters  were  thrown  back,  it  was  fresh 
and  breezy  enough. 

A  Brahmo-Somaj  clerk  in  the  railway,  whom  Chris 
knew  and  liked,  had  quarters  on  the  ground  floor  in  con- 
sideration of  his  services  as  secretary,  and  with  his  help 
Chris  soon  found  himself  settled  in.  A  bed,  a  table,  a 
chair  —  the  last  two  doubtfully  desirable  —  completed 
the  furniture,  and  left  a  dehghtful  sense  of  space  and 
freedom  in  the  wide  empty  room.  He  had  escaped,  he 
felt,  from  Shark  Lane.  Surely  from  this  standpoint  it 
might  be  possible  to  be  sincere.  Here  it  might  be  pos- 
sible to  reconcile  himself  to  his  environment,  his  envi- 
ronment to  himself. 

He  took  off  his  European  dress,  not  from  any  distaste 
to  it,  but  because  he  knew  it  to  be  an  absolute  barrier 
between  him  and  his  desire.  So,  in  the  ordinary  costume 
of  a  native  clerk,  he  strolled  out  to  pass  the  time  till  he 
could  safely  go  and  see  his  mother ;  safely,  because  she 
lived  amongst  the  strictest  of  neighbours,  whom  he  did 
not  wish  to  meet  —  as  yet.  That  might  be  afterwards, 
but  not  now.  It  was  already  growing  dusk  —  for  he 
had  changed  his  quarters  after  the  day's  work  was  over 
—  but  the  irregular  sort  of  bazaar  between  him  and  one 
of  the  city  gates  had  not  yet  begun  to  twinkle  with  lit- 
tle lights  after  its  usual  fashion.  Indeed,  many  of  the 
shops  were  closed.  Yet  there  was  no  lack  of  possible 
customers.  The  roadway  was  crowded  with  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  men.     It  suddenly  struck  him  that 


ON   THE  BED  ROCK  295 

nearly  all  were  coming  towards  him ;  therefore  there 
must  be  some  attraction  behind  him.  He  turned  and 
drifted  with  the  tide  until,  after  a  few  hundred  yards, 
he  saw  ahead  of  him  to  one  side  of  the  road,  a  dim  clump 
of  stunted  trees,  with  a  red  rag  on  a  stick  tied  to  the 
topmost  branch,  and,  showing  in  a  soft  yellow  radiance 
v/hich  rose  from  the  ground,  a  glint  of  white  tombs 
among  the  lower  ones.  Then  he  remembered — an  odd 
regret  that  he  should  have  forgotten  something  which 
to  his  childhood  had  been  all-important,  coming  with 
the  remembrance  —  that  this  must  be  the  day  of  Sheikh 
Chilli's  fair,  which  was  held  every  year  at  this  shrine  ; 
Sheikh  Chilli,  the  pantaloon  of  India ;  the  man  of  strav/, 
the  lover's  dupe,  the  butt  of  every  one ;  the  type  which, 
in  varying  form,  plays  its  part  in  the  serio-comic  tragedy 
of  sex  all  over  the  world.  Sheikh  Chilli,  whose  beard 
any  one  can  pull,  whose  wife  is  never  his  own,  whom  a 
child  can  deceive. 

Perhaps  that  was  the  reason,  Chris  thought,  why,  as 
a  child,  Sheikh  Chilli's  fair  had  been  such  a  supreme 
occasion  ;  that  and  the  toys  —  those  toys  which,  as  it 
were,  set  Nushapore  the  fashion  in  playthings  for  a 
whole  year.  And  that  meant  something,  since  the  two 
hundred  and  odd  thousand  people  in  the  city,  idlers,  by 
inheritance,  were  great  in  the  manufacture  of  toys. 

Chris,  who  had  not  seen  a  Sheikh  Chilli  fair  for  years, 
went  forward  eagerly  as  a  child  himself,  the  whole  scene 
coming  back  to  him  with  absolute  familiarity :  the  rows 
of  little  lights  set  on  the  ground  to  mark  the  streets,  and 
behind  them,  ranged  in  squares,  the  toys ;  thousands  of 
them,  millions  of  them  ;  baked  mud,  bent  bamboo,  curled 
cotton ;  soda-water  corks,  match-boxes,  even  brass  car- 
tridges, all  pressed  into  the  service  by  a  truly  marvellous 
ingenuity.  And  between  the  lights,  along  the  paths, 
jammed  almost  to  solidity  by  the  barriers  of  toys, 
humanity  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  seen  in  that  curious  soft 
radiance  rising  from  the  earth  below  its  feet !  humanity 
trying  to  pause  and  admire,  trying  to  pause  and  laugh  ; 
helpless  for  either  when  standing,  and  driven  to  gain 


296  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

absolute    solidity  by    squatting   down    and   letting   the 
stream  sweep  over  it. 

A  group  of  dancing-girls  showed  on  the  flat  plinth  of 
the  shrine ;  musicians  strummed  here  and  there.  Here 
and  there  a  conjurer  essayed  tricks.  But  all  this  was 
trivial  beside  the  toys. 

Yet  they  were  still  more  trivial :  one  for  a  farthing, 
two  for  a  farthing,  even  three  for  a  farthing  if  you  chose 
mud  monkeys,  or  brass  rings  made  out  of  sliced  car- 
tridge-cases set  with  drops  of  blue  or  red  sealing-wax. 

"  Lo ! "  came  the  voices  of  peasants  in  for  the  show. 
"See  to  that!  That  is  new!  "  And  some  grave-faced 
husbandman  would  buy  a  sort  of  Mercury's  caduceiis 
made  of  bamboo,  with  two  writhing,  twisting  snakes  to 
it,  fearfully,  horribly  alive. 

This  piece  of  ingenuity,  indeed,  ran  a  couple  of  cot- 
ton-wool bears  who  chased  each  other  endlessly  over  a 
loop  of  bamboo,  close  for  the  pride  of  first  place  in  the 
fair  ;  a  place  for  which  there  was  keen  competition.  So 
that,  whenever  any  toy  seemed  to  hit  the  fancy,  there 
were  instantly  trays  of  it  being  hawked  about  above  the 
crush,  above  the  soft  light,  with  the  cry  —  "  The  best  in 
the  fair,  one  farthing !  one  farthing  for  the  best  in  the 
fair! " 

Chris,  caught  in  the  crowd,  drifted  on  with  it,  won- 
dering, as  he  had  wondered  as  a  child,  which  of  the 
many  claimants  up  aloft  in  the  semi-darkness  was  the 
true  one.  It  was  a  strangely  absorbing  wonder  ;  but 
then  the  whole  scene  was  absorbingly  unlike  anything 
else  in  the  world.  It  was  humanity  herded  by  toys, 
limited  by  them,  forced  to  go  one  way,  and  one  way 
only,  by  them ! 

The  rows  of  little  flickering  lamps  between  the  two 
seemed  as  if  they  were  shaking  with  silent  laughter  at 
the  sight. 

'•  The  best  in  the  fair  !  one  farthing  !  One  farthing 
for  the  best  in  the  fair !  " 

The  cry  came  this  time  with  something  that  was 
hardly  a  toy,  and  yet  hands  were  stretched  out  to  buy 


ON   THE  BED   ROCK  297 

it.  Chris,  tall  enough  to  see  over  the  heads  of  his 
neighbours,  noticed  that  more  trays  full  of  this  some- 
thing were  being  hawked  on  all  sides. 

It  was  only  a  hank  of  the  coarse  ring-streaked  cotton 
thread  used  in  betrothals  as  an  amulet  for  the  bride- 
groom's wrist,  and  for  plaiting  into  the  bride's  hair. 
Attached  to  it  was  a  thin  brass  medal,  apparently 
stamped  out  of  a  cartridge-case,  and  shaped  like  the 
talisman  a  second  wife  wears  as  a  safeguard  against 
the  machinations  of  the  first.  It  was  stamped,  Chris 
found  on  buying  one,  with  what  seemed,  at  first,  a  cres- 
cent and  a  cross ;  but  a  closer  look  showed  him  that  the 
latter  was  a  sivastika,  or  death-mark.  In  other  words, 
the  equal-limbed  cross  with  bent  ends.  Below  that 
again  was  a  sort  of  Broad  Arrow. 

"  The  best  in  the  fair !  Safety  for  females  !  Victo- 
ria Queen's  mercifulness  !  Freedom  from  tyrannies  for 
one  farthing !  " 

These  more  elaborate  cries  came  from  farther  down 
the  serried  band  of  humanity  of  which  Chris  was  a  unit, 
and  so  beyond  his  reach ;  but,  after  a  while,  the  steady, 
glacier-like  movement  of  the  whole  brought  him  oppo- 
site to  what  was  evidently  the  home  of  the  amulet ;  for 
such  the  something  seemed  to  be.  Here,  behind  the 
rows  of  lamps,  thousands  of  these  cotton  hanks  lay  in 
tangled  heaps.  Behind  them  again  sat  the  sellers,  rak- 
ing in  money.  Every  one  seemed  to  buy,  even  those 
who  did  not  know  what  they  were  buying. 

"  What  is't  for  '^.  "  answered  one  of  the  sellers  —  whom 
Chris  fancied  he  had  seen  in  some  rather  different  posi- 
tion —  to  an  old  man  who  had  bought  a  whole  penny's 
worth.  "  For  the  plague,  of  course !  Wear  it,  and 
none  dare  come  nigh  thee.     It  gives  the  right  to  peace." 

"Dost  pretend  —  ?"  began  Chris  hotly,  when  the 
seller,  looking  up,  interrupted  him  audaciously  — 

"  I  pretend  naught,  baboo-jee^'  he  replied.  "  I  sell 
amulets  for  what  they  are  worth,  a  farthing.  The  rest 
is  God's  will.  Yet,  have  not  all  a  right  to  peace,  my 
masters  .-'     Have  we  not  all  the  right  to  live  as  we  have 


298  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

lived  ?  Ay !  and  to  quarrel  with  those  who  interfere  ; 
above  all  with  those  who  make  promises  and  break 
them  ?  Who'll  buy  ?  Who'll  buy  the  promise  of  peace, 
the  freedom  from  tyranny,  the  female  ruler's  merciful- 
ness to  females  ? " 

The  hands  were  stretching  out  on  all  sides  still,  as 
the  onward  sweep  of  that  human  glacier  carried  Chris 
beyond  the  power  of  argument  or  denial. 

He  found  the  opportunity  of  both,  however,  when  he 
joined  a  group  beyond  the  crush  in  which  he  recognised 
several  of  his  Shark  Lane  acquaintances.  He  had  not 
meant  to  show  himself  in  his  present  dress  to  them,  but 
he  was  eager  for  sympathy.  "  The  police  ought  not  to 
allow  that  sort  of  thing,"  he  said  decisively ;  "  it  might 
lead  to  —  to  —  trouble." 

"  I  fail  to  see  your  point,  sir,"  replied  a  keen-faced 
lawyer.  "  It  appears  to  me  to  lead  to  the  soothing  of 
groundless  terrors.  Then  the  sale  of  amulets  is  not 
prohibited  by  law.  Nor  is  there  fraudulent  statement 
over  and  above  a  general  appeal  to  superstition  and 
ignorance,  which,  alas  !  are  but  too  common." 

"  I  join  issue  with  you,  sir,"  put  in  another  keen  face  ; 
"  nor,  to  my  mind,  is  there  even  suggestio  falsi.  Is  not 
our  beloved  Queen  merciful  to  females,  and  has  not  the 
Government  graciously  asserted  that  there  sJiall  be  no 
interference  with  the  liberty  of  the  subject.'*  " 

Some  one  behind  laughed  loudly,  a  trifle  uncontrol- 
ably,  and  a  voice,  which  Chris  instantly  recognised  as 
Govind  the  editor's,  said  jeeringly  in  Hindustani,  "Aid  I 
Idld-jee  !  there  is  no  lack  of  gracious  words  !  But  as  I 
have  said  ever,  as  I  mean  to  prove  when  I  choose,  there 
is  more  than  the  words  in  the  Lord-Jrt/^z'/^'s  office- 
box  ! " 

"  Prove  !  "  echoed  another  of  the  same  type  who  had 
paused,  in  passing,  to  join  the  group;  "thou  art  behind 
the  times,  Govind !  It  is  proved  already.  But  this 
morning  two  Englishmen,  on  excuse  of  plague  visitation, 
offered  such  insult  to  three  virtuous  females  that  with 
one  accord  they  threw  themselves  down  the  well !  " 


ON   THE  BED  ROCK  299 

"Impossible!"  cried  Chris;  and  not  he  only,  for 
nearly  every  man  present  voiced  doubt,  if  not  denial. 

"  There  is  no  doubt,"  reiterated  the  news-bringer  com- 
placently ;  "  I  had  it  from  a  man  whose  uncle  was  outside. 
They  closed  the  doors,  and  none  could  enter,  despite  the 
women's  screams.  It  was  in  the  Badshahzai  quarter,  and 
the  folk  have  closed  their  gates  and  sit  in  terror." 

"Small  wonder!"  put  in  Govind,  eager  to  have  his 
say  in  horrors ;  "  it  was  thence  that  the  girl  was  ab- 
ducted the  other  day.  Lo !  'tis  a  good  beginning ! 
What  wonder  if  folk  lay  hold  of  amulets  and  fair 
promises !  " 

"I  tell  you,"  asserted  Chris  passionately,  "it  cannot 
be  true.  And  as  for  the  other  story,  was  it  not  told  on 
the  word  of  Jehan  Aziz,  and  which  of  us  would  trust 
him }  None.  Shall  we  believe  him  in  this,  against 
what  we  see,  and  know,  of  our  own  senses  ?  " 

"We  do  not  beHeve  these  stories,  sir,"  remarked  the 
lawyer  pompously.  "  False  evidence  is,  alas  !  a  hobby 
of  our  ignorant  countrymen.  There  is  no  doubt  a  sub- 
stratum of  truth  in  these  stories  —  " 

"No!  pleader-7>^,"  interrupted  Chris  vehemently  — 
the  conversation  shifted  between  English  and  Hindu- 
stani in  the  strangest  fashion  —  "  there  is  no  foundation 
for  such  stories,  and  we  all  know  it.  There  is  founda- 
tion for  mistakes,  for  wrong  enough,  God  knows —  but 
for  such  as  that,  no  !  " 

"  Your  contention  is  true,"  put  in  a  temperate  voice  ; 
"  but  the  difficulty  of  sifting  wheat  from  chaff  is  prover- 
bial." 

Once  again  Chris  broke  from  his  like  in  absolute  dis- 
couragement. And  yet  what  could  he  do  to  dissociate 
himself  from  their  policy  of  non-interf erence  .-*  Abso- 
lutely nothing.  Here,  in  this  world  mapped  out  by  toys, 
with  that  soft  unsteady  brilliance  rising  from  about  men's 
feet,  he  could  not  even  hope  to  rouse  dissent.  That 
onward  glacier-like  sweep,  full  of  outstretched  hands 
buying  a  piceworth  of  promises,  would  pass  by  him  and 
his  words,  unheeding  of  either. 


300  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

And,  after  all,  the  lawyer  was  right  so  far.  That 
miserable  strand  of  the  wedding-skein  which  links  man 
and  woman  —  that  trumpery  brass  cartridge-case  medal, 
rudely  stamped  with  the  Hindoo  death-mark,  the  Mo- 
hammedan faith-mark,  and  the  English  possession-mark 
—  would  carry  comfort  and  calm  to  many  a  hearth. 

And  yet  the  promise  that  could  not  be  kept  was  dan- 
gerous. He  must  write  of  that  to  Mr.  Raymond.  And 
then  the  question  came.  Why  should  he .''  Why  should 
he,  who  had  no  voice  at  all  in  his  own  country's  welfare, 
help  those  who  thought  they  could  dispense  with  the 
services  of  such  as  he } 

The  clock,  striking  nine  from  the  tall  Italian  cam- 
panile on  which  some  past  bureaucrat  had  spent  money 
that  might  have  been  better  used,  warned  him  that  if 
he  was  to  write  that  evening  he  must  do  it  at  once ;  but 
it  warned  him  also  that  it  was  time  he  went  to  his 
mother's. 

Should  he,  should  he  not  ? 

It  was  no  sense  of  duty  which  decided  him.  It  was 
the  remembrance  that  if  he  went  back  to  his  lodging,  he 
could  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone.  He  could  not  only 
write  the  warning,  but  also  put  a  certain  small  rose- 
scented,  rose-satin-covered  boxlet  and  a  paper  of  corn  in 
his  pocket,  in  case  Naraini,  poor  little  soul,  needed  com- 
forting. 

Something  that  was  not  Eastern  or  Western,  but  sim- 
ply human,  surged  up  in  him  as  he  thought  of  what  her 
face  would  be  when  he  proved  to  her  that,  so  far  from 
being  angry  at  her  throwing  the  corn  into  the  gutter,  he 
had  gathered  it  up  —  every  grain  ! 

He  had  not  told  his  mother  that  he  had  done  so  ;  that 
is  not  the  sort  of  information  sons  giv^e  their  mothers. 
East  or  West. 

But  he  meant  to  tell  Naraini ! 

He  ran  up  the  brick  stairs  which  led  from  outside  to 
the  upper  story  lightly  as  a  boy,  feeling  a  sort  of  exulta- 
tion in  his  new  freedom  of  circumstance.  He  had  pur- 
posely brought  no  servant  with  him,  for  tJiey,  he  knew, 


ON  THE  BED  ROCK  301 

would  have  brought  Shark  Lane  with  them,  and  he 
wished  to  forget  its  ways  and  works  for  a  time.  So  he 
had  determined  to  engage  a  new  and  uncontaminated 
attendant  on  the  morrow.  One  consequence  of  this, 
however,  was  that  his  room  was  dark  to-day ! 

He  stood  on  its  threshold  feeling,  of  a  sudden,  strangely 
forlorn  and  lost.  Then  he  pulled  himself  together 
sharply.  What  a  trivial  thing  is  man,  that  even  the 
lack  of  a  bedroom  candle  should  discourage  him  !  On 
the  threshold,  too,  of  a  new  life  !  Especially  when  he 
had  not  so  far  forsaken  civiHsation  as  to  be  without  wax 
vestas ! 

He  lit  one  after  another,  laboriously,  and  managed  by 
their  light  to  scrawl  a  short  note  to  Jack  Raymond. 
Then  he  rummaged  in  his  portmanteau  for  the  rose- 
scented  box,  trusting  more  to  touch  and  smell  than 
sight,  until,  having  found  it,  he  laid  it  beside  him  on 
the  floor  in  order  to  relock  the  portmanteau,  ere  leaving 
the  room  to  take  care  of  itself.  And  then }  Then  a 
travelling-inkstand  and  the  little  casket  got  mixed  up  in 
the  darkness,  and  he  became  conscious  of  something 
wet  on  his  hands. 

He  swore  —  in  English  —  and  lit  another  match.  The 
rose-coloured  box  was  uninjured,  but  his  fingers  were 
hopeless.  He  turned  naturally  to  soap,  water,  towels ; 
and  found  none. 

There  was  the  well  in  the  compound,  of  course,  but 
—  he  swore  again.  Then,  half  incUned  to  laugh  half  to 
frown,  at  the  annoyance  he  felt,  he  began  to  feel  his 
way  towards  the  stairs.  As  he  did  so,  a  chink  of  light 
at  the  bottom  of  a  door,  further  down  the  wider  roof  of 
the  lower  story  from  which  the  upper  rooms  rose,  ar- 
rested him.  He  might  beg  for  a  wash  there.  A  voice 
answered  his  knock.  He  opened  the  door  and  went  in  ; 
then  stood  petrified. 

Seated  on  a  chair  facing  him,  his  legs  very  wide 
apart,  a  bit  of  looking-glass  in  one  hand,  a  brush  in  the 
other,  Jan-Ali-shan  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to 
an  elaborate  parting.     He  was  otherwise  got  up  to  the 


302  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

nines  in  an  old  dress-suit,  which  he  had  picked  up  for 
the  half  of  nothing  at  an  officer's  sale.  His  white  tie 
and  shirt-front  were  irreproachable ;  he  had  a  flower  in 
his  buttonhole.  The  only  discordant  note  was  a  reminis- 
cent odour  of  patchouli. 

He  paused,  awestruck  —  hair-brush  and  looking-glass 
severed  from  each  other  by  the  width  of  his  arm-stretch 
—  at  the  sight  of  his  superior  officer  in  native  costume. 

"  Well !  I  — am  —  eternally  "  —  his  present  and  future 
state  was  evidently  an  uncertainty,  but  he  finally  said, 
a  trifle  doubtfully  —  "  blessed  !  " 

Then  he  rose,  and  accepted  the  situation  with  his 
usual  confidential  cheerfulness. 

"Beg  pardin,  sir,"  he  explained,  "titivatin'  for  a  'op. 
The  girls  like  it,  an'  you  likes  yourself ;  so  it's  all  round 
my  'at  for  the  lot  o'  us,  an'  a  straight  tip  to  '  England 
expec's  every  man  to  do  'is  dooty.'  An'  wot  was  you 
please  to  want,  sir .''  " 

Chris  paused  in  his  turn  for  a  second ;  then  followed 
suit  in  a  confidential  explanation.  "  I  want  to  wash  my 
hands,  please.  You  are  wondering  how  I  got  here  — 
in  —  in  this  dress.  I  came  to  the  room  over  there  this 
afternoon,  because  —  my  mother  is  sick,  Ellison,  and  I 
want  to  be  near  her,  and  see  her." 

Jan-Ali-shan's  face  expressed  unqualified  approval. 
"Right  you  are,  sir!"  he  said.  "I  disremember  mine, 
seein'  she  went  out  as  I  come  in  ;  but  I  know  this,  sir  — 
I've  missed  'er  all  my  life —  an'  shall  do,  please  God,  till 
I  die."  He  had  gone  to  the  washhand-stand  and  was 
making  elaborate  preparations  with  soap  and  a  clean 
towel.  "  Lor'  bless  you,  sir !  "  he  went  on,  "  I'd  'ave 
'ad  cleaner  'ands  myself  to-day  if  she'd  bin  there  to 
smack  'em  w'en  I  was  a  hinfant.  She's  powerful  for 
horderin'  a  man's  ways,  sir,  is  a  mother." 

And  as  he  resumed  his  interrupted  occupation,  thus 
leaving  Chris  unobserved,  he  hummed  "  My  mother  bids 
me  bind  my  hair"  with  a  superfluity  of  grace  notes. 

"And  I  want  also,"  went  on  Chris,  recovering  his  lost 
sense  of  dignity  under  the  effects  of  a  nail-brush  and  a 


ON   THE  BED  ROCK  303 

piece  of  pumice-stone  —  he  had  often  noticed  Jan-Ali- 
shan's  hands  and  wondered  at  their  tidiness  for  a  work- 
ing man's  —  "to  find  out  the  state  of  feeling  in  the  city. 
From  what  I  hear  people  are  saying  —  and  you  must 
hear  a  lot  too  —  " 

Jan-Ali-shan  laid  down  the  brush  and  the  looking- 
glass.  "  Hear .-'  "  he  echoed,  "  Lor'  love  you,  they  don't 
tell  me  them  tales.  I'm  a  sahib,  I  am.  An'  I  wouldn't 
listen  if  they  did.  'Tisn't  as  if  we  'ad  to  do  with  words 
ourselves  ;  but  we  ain't.  '  By  their  works  shall  ye  know 
them,'  as  it  says  in  'Oly  Writ;  an'  if  it  come  to  that,  sir, 
why,  they  shall  know  *oo's  '00  in  John  Ellison,  An'  now, 
sir,  if  you've  clone,  I'll  light  you  down  them  stairs,  for 
of  all  the  inconsiderate,  on-Christian  stairs  a  'eathen 
ever  built,  them's  the  most  disconcertin'  in  the  '  stilly 
night.'  "  There  was  pure  pathos  in  the  voice  that  wan- 
dered off  into  the  song. 

"I  didn't  know  you  lived  here,  Ellison,"  said  Chris, 
following  cautiously.  "  You  were  in  another  house 
when  I  —  " 

A  chuckle  was  wafted  back  from  the  candle.  "  Wen 
'Oneyman  titivated  in  dress  bags !  If  you'll  excuse  me, 
sir,  that  story's  bin  worth  a  fiver  to  me  nigger-minstrel- 
ing,  as  Bones.  I  don't  give  no  names,  sir;  but  you 
should  'ear  the  Tommies  laugh  !  No  offence,  sir,  but  it 
do  tell  awful  comic,  and  they  needs  perkin'  up  a  bit, 
pore  lads,  in  them  beastly  barracks.  Better'n  the 
bazaar  for  'em  any'ow,  so  that's  something  due  to  'Oney- 
man, ain't  it.'*  Yes,  sir!  "  he  went  on,  still  piloting  the 
way  towards  the  gate,  "  I  left  them  diggin's  soon's  I 
could  pay  a  better  lot,  for  I  likes  a  bit  o'  'ome,  sir,  an'  a 
bit  o'  furniture.  'An'  who  shall  dare  to  chide  me  for 
lovin'  an  old  armchair.'  That's  about  it,  sir.  The 
'  'appy  'omes  of  Hengland,'  and  Hingia  too,  sir,"  he 
added,  as,  after  blowing  out  the  end  of  candle  and  put- 
ting it  into  his  pocket  for  future  use,  he  paused  to  say 
—  "  Good-night,  sir,  an'  I  'ope  you'll  find  the  good  lady 
better." 

•'  Good-night,  Ellison,  I  hope  you'll  enjoy  yourself." 


304  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

Jan-Ali-shan  gave  an  odd,  half-sheepish  laugh.  "  An' 
oughter,  sir ;  she's  an  awful  nice  girl,  an'  not  a  drop  o' 
black  blood  in  'er  veins  —  beggin'  your  pardin,  sir,  but 
you  know  'ow  'tis." 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Chris  suddenly,  "  I  know  how  it  is." 

He  knew  better  than  he  had  ever  known  before,  when 
hours  afterwards  —  his  blood  running  like  new  wine  in 
his  veins  —  he  came  back  from  the  city  and  stumbled 
up  to  his  room. 

The  stairs  were  certainly,  as  John  Ellison  had  said, 
most  inconsiderate.  Yet  one  stumble  was  not  due  to 
them,  but  to  John  Ellison  himself,  who  was  crumpled 
up,  snoring  peacefully,  at  the  most  difficult  turn. 

"  Hillo  !  "  he  said  conclusively,  after  a  prolonged  stare 
at  Chris,  made  possible  by  another  resort  to  wax  vestas 
on  the  latter's  part,  "  is  that  you,  sonny  ?  "  And  then  he 
wandered  off  melodiously  into  the  parody  — 

"  My  mother  bids  me  dye  my  hair  the  fashionable  hue." 

When  Chris  had  seen  his  subordinate  safe  to  bed,  he 
made  free  with  the  bit  of  candle  end  for  his  own  use. 

And  by  its  light  he  saw  his  letter  to  Jack  Raymond 
lying  forgotten  on  the  floor  in  a  half-dried  pool  of  ink. 

"  I  cannot  send  that  one,  anyhow,"  he  said  to  himself 
as  he  tore  it  up.  But  he  felt  as  if  he  could  send  nothing  — 
that  he  could  never  give  another  thought  to  such  things. 
For  Naraini  had  needed  comfort,  and  he  had  given  it  to 
her.  But  he  could  not  even  think  of  her ;  a  profound 
physical  content  lulled  him  to  a  dreamless  sleep,  his  last 
thought,  ere  that  sleep  claimed  him,  being  that  he  had 
not  felt  so  happy  for  years. 


CHAPTER   XX 


THE    OLD    WINE 


Chris  woke  suddenly,  and  yet  without  that  sense  of 
dislocation  which  such  awakening  often  brings  with  it. 

The  vast  content  that  had  been  his  in  falling  asleep 
was  his  still,  as  with  eyes  which  seemed  to  him  to  have 
grown  clear  of  dreams  he  lay  smiling  at  what  he  saw, 
though  that  was  only  a  wide,  empty,  whitewashed  room 
with  many  window-doors  set  open  to  the  dawn ;  and 
through  these  nothing  but  a  strip  of  mud  roof ;  and 
beyond  that  again,  the  broad  blades  of  the  plantain 
leaves  shining  grey-green  in  the  grey  light.  A  slight 
breeze  swayed  them,  and  rustled  in  the  frayed  straws  of 
the  rude  matting  with  which  the  floor  was  covered. 

But  that  louder,  more  intermittent  rustle  was  not  the 
wind.  It  was  the  patter  of  a  bird's  feet.  And  there, 
with  tail  erect  on  the  coping,  clear  against  the  glisten- 
ing grey-green  leaves,  which  swayed  like  sea-weeds  in 
a  swift  tide,  a  striped  squirrel  was  breakfasting  on  some 
treasure-trove. 

Chris  filled  his  lungs  with  a  long  breath.  He  was 
back  in  the  old  world  ;  the  world  where  all  living  things 
are  alike  mortal,  where  even  man  is  as  the  flower  that 
fadeth,  the  beast  that  perisheth. 

And  the  old  way  was  better. 

So  far  he  had  gone,  when  the  consciousness  that  he 
was  not  alone  —  that  strange  consciousness  of  humanity 
which,  be  the  old  way  never  so  charming,  separates 
men  from  it  inevitably  —  came  to  him,  and  he  sat  up  on 
the  low  string  cot,  set  so  regardless  of  symmetry  just 
where  it  had  first  been  dumped  down  in  the  room. 

His  instinct  had  been  right.  A  figure  had  been  seated, 
^  305 


306  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

immovable  as  a  statue,  just  behind  his  head  ;  but  as  he 
turned  it  turned  also,  and  held  out  a  folded  paper.  The 
figure  was  that  of  a  young  man  about  his  own  age  and 
of  much  the  same  build,  but  guiltless  of  clothing  save  for 
a  saffron-coloured  waist-cloth.  The  forehead  was  barred 
with  white  lines,  and  a  leopard's  skin  hung  over  the 
shoulder.  Palpably  this  was  the  disciple  of  some 
learned  ascetic,  as  he,  Chris,  would  have  been,  had  not 
the  West  interfered  with  custom.  The  thought  made 
him  smile,  but  the  face  opposite  his  remained  grave, 
almost  disapproving ;  the  figure  rose  without  a  word, 
turned  on  its  heel,  and  disappeared.  Chris,  left  with 
the  paper  in  his  hand,  felt  as  if  a  message  had  been  sent 
to  him  from  another  world  ;  felt  so  still  more  when  he 
had  read  the  broad  black  Sanskrit  lettering  inside. 

''T\\y  guru  calls  thee" — it  ran  —  "come,  ere  it  be 
too  late." 

He  sat  staring  at  the  words,  conscious — despite  his 
better  sense  —  of  a  compulsion,  almost  of  fear. 

For  why  had  this  claim  of  authority  been  made  now .-' 
Wherefore  should  the  guru  —  that  is,  the  spiritual 
adviser  of  his  family  —  desire  to  see  him  .-* 

The  answer  was  but  too  plain  ;  he  must  already  know 
of  that  stolen  visit  Chris  had  made  to  his  mother's  house  ; 
a  visit  which,  should  one,  who  was  her  spiritual  guide 
also,  choose  to  proclaim  it,  might  bring  endless  trouble, 
vexation,  disgrace  upon  her. 

Chris  stood  up,  inwardly  cursing  his  own  recklessness. 
He  might,  he  told  himself,  have  known  that  priestly 
spies  would  be  about  him  after  that  incident  of  the 
bathing-steps.  He  ought  not  to  have  gone ;  not  at 
least  as  he  had  gone,  leaving  his  mother  still  in  her  fond 
belief  that  he  had  done,  or  was  willing  to  do,  the  neces- 
sary penance. 

Yet  without  that  belief —  strengthened  as  it  had  been 
by  his  repeated  requests  for  secrecy  in  the  present  — 
she  would  not  have  received  him  as  she  had.  And 
Naraini  — 

Plainly  he  must  obey  the  order,  and  so  find  out  what 


THE    OLD    WINE  307 

was  wanted,  what  was  threatened.  He  rose  therefore 
and  went  out  into  the  cool  grey  dawn. 

The  arcaded  courtyard  recessed  about  a  cluster  of 
temples,  where  Swami  Viseshwar  Nath  taught  his  dis- 
ciples, was  empty  as  yet  when  Chris  reached  it,  save  for 
half  a  dozen  figures  scarce  distinguishable  from  the  one 
which  had  summoned  him.  All,  in  these  early  hours, 
were  busy  over  ceremonials  of  sorts ;  but  all  looked  up 
at  the  newcomer  with  that  dull  disapproval. 

"The^//;7/  is  within,"  said  one  sullenly. 

Chris  did  not  need  direction.  Had  he  not  learned 
the  precious  shibboleths  of  his  twice-born  race  yonder 
at  the  master's  feet .'' 

"  So  thou  hast  come,  Krishn.  Take  thy  seat,  pupil, 
and  listen,"  came  a  voice. 

It  was  almost  dark  in  the  slip  of  a  room  behind  the 
arcades,  but  Chris  could  see,  by  the  help  of  memory,  the 
unmovable  figure,  the  placid  face  with  its  wide  thin  lips. 
He  saw  in  a  flash,  also,  everything  that  had  ever  hap- 
pened to  him  in  this,  his  earliest  school,  and  the  old  awe 
that  comes  with  such  memories  fell  on  him  as  he  obeyed. 

"There  is  no  need,"  continued  the  voice,  "to  tell  thee 
that  I  know  what  thou  wouldst  rather  I  did  not  know. 
Neither  canst  thou  pretend  ignorance  of  what  such 
knowledge  means.  Therefore,  Krishn,  there  is  naught 
to  say  but  this.     What  art  thou  about  to  do  .-^  " 

Chris  had  been  asking  himself  the  question,  but  he 
resented  its  being  put  to  him. 

"That  depends,"  he  was  beginning,  when  the  Swami 
stopped  him  by  laying  an  impassive  hand  on  his  wrist. 

"  To  save  time,  I  will  tell  thee.  Out  of  past  years  — 
as  thou  didst  disappear  in  tJiem  —  thou  shalt  return  —  as 
thou  didst  go  —  Krishn  Davenund,  Brahmin,  twice-born. 
There  shall  be  no  question  asked,  no  answers  needed. 
Thou  shalt  return  to  us — I,  Viseshwar  Nath, /^;v//zV 
of  thy  race,  say  it,  and  none  shall  quarrel  me  —  thou 
shalt  return  to  hold  a  woman's  hand,  and  circle  the 
sacred  fire  —  her  hand,  Naraini's,  whom  the  gods  keep 
for  thee,  whom  I,  child,  have  kept  for  thee ! " 


308  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

The  words  with  the  nameless  rhythm  in  them,  which 
the  use  of  Sanskrit  phrases  gives  to  the  vulgar  tongue, 
echoed  softly  into  the  arches,  and  Chris  felt  his  eyes,  his 
ears  held  captive  by  the  insignificant  figure  that  was 
hedged  about  by  no  sign  of  dignity  or  office  save  the 
leopard  skin  on  which  it  crouched,  naked. 

"Kept  for  me  —  how  so?"  he  echoed,  trying  once 
more  to  be  resentful. 

The  Swami  smiled.  "  Hast,  indeed,  forgotten  the  old 
life  so  utterly,  boy,  as  never  to  have  wondered  why  one  of 
Naraini's  age  remained  virgin  in  thy  mother's  house  .-'  " 

Chris  felt  the  blood  go  tingling  to  his  face ;  for  he 
could  not  pretend  to  such  ignorance.  He  knew  that  the 
limit  of  laxity  in  such  matters  had  almost  been  overpast 
in  the  hope  that  when  he  returned  from  England  he 
would  marry  the  girl.  But  that  possibility  had  vanished 
when  he  had  married  Viva.  Therefore,  to  blame  him 
for  the  subsequent  delay  was  unfair ;  so  he  answered 
boldly  — 

"  I  have  not  wondered.  I  have  known  and  regretted 
the  idle  dream.  But  that  was  over  long  ago  —  ere  my 
father  died.     Had  he  chosen,  he  might  —  " 

The  Swami's  hand  stopped  him  once  more.  "  Not 
so,"  he  said  calmly.  "  If  thou  hast  forgotten  much, 
there  are  other  things  thou  hast  never  known ;  that 
none  would  have  known  save  thy  father  and  I  —  not 
even  thy  mother  —  hadst  thou  been  dutiful  and  fulfilled 
the  dream.  Listen  and  reflect!  Thy  cousin  Naraini 
was  betrothed  or  ever  she  came  to  thy  father's  house, 
betrothed  as  an  infant  to  one  who  —  who  left  her." 

"  Left  her .-'  "  echoed  Chris  hotly,  "  wherefore  }  " 

"  That  matters  not,"  replied  Viseshwar  Nath  ;  "  there 
be  many  reasons,  but  the  result  is  the  same :  if  the 
betrothed  be  dead,  Naraini  is  ividotv  !  " 

In  the  pause  Chris  clenched  his  hands ;  for  he  saw 
whither  the  wily  lips  were  leading  him,  and  in  a  flash 
realised  his  own  impotence  if  this  were  true. 

"  It  is  a  lie  !  "  he  muttered  helplessly.  "  I  must  —  my 
mother  must  have  known.     And  my  father  —  "     Then 


THE    OLD    WINE  309 

memory  came  to  remind  him  that  his  father  had  been 
a  champion  of  widow  remarriage,  and  he  broke  off  still 
more  helplessly. 

"  Even  so ! "  continued  the  Swami,  not  unkindly ; 
"  thy  father  agreed  with  me  (we  of  the  temple  have 
to  keep  touch  with  the  world,  Krishn).  Yea!  he  gave 
gold,  since  that  is  in  thy  thought !  to  hide  the  wrong. 
And  if  he  were  willing  to  give  her  to  you,  his  only  son, 
as  wife,  wherefore  should  I  speak .-'  No  harm  was  done 
to  others ;  no  deception  to  ignorant  honour.  But  it  was 
different  when  he  died  and  thy  mother  came  to  me,  with 
heart  split  in  twain  between  the  dream  and  duty,  to 
speak  of  another  betrothal.  So  I  said  then  —  '  Wait 
yet  a  while.  The  gods  have  mated  these  tv;o.  He  may 
return.'  That  was  better,  was  it  not,  Krishn,  than  — 
than  wjdbwhood  for  the  girl .''  " 

He  leant  towards  the  young  man  as  he  spoke  the 
words,  his  sombre  eyes  fixed  on  Chris  Davenant's 
shrinking  face.  Though  the  latter  had  known  what 
was  coming,  the  certainty  of  it  overwhelmed  him.  He 
sat  staring  breathlessly,  with  such  absolute  paralysis 
of  nerve  and  muscle  that  a  damp  sweat  showed  on  his 
forehead,  as  on  the  foreheads  of  those  who  are  in  the 
grip  of  death. 

And  widowhood  was  worse  than  death.  It  would  be 
a  living  death  to  Naraini — Naraini  with  her  little  rose- 
coloured,  rose-scented  casket. 

"  Which  is  it  to  be,  my  pupil .''  "  came  the  Swami's 
voice,  swift  and  keen  as  a  knife-thrust,  "  Widowhood,  or 
marriage  .-' " 

Chris  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  with  a  groan ; 
then  he  looked  up  suddenly.  "  Why  .■"  "  he  began,  and 
ended.  Appeal  he  knew  was  useless ;  but  he  might  at 
least  know  why  this  choice  was  forced  on  him,  for  choice 
it  was.  His  had  been  in  the  eye  of  the  law  a  mixed 
marriage  —  his  right  as  Hindoo  remained  in  India. 

The  Swami's  lean  brown  hand  was  on  his  wrist  again, 
but  it  was  no  longer  impassive ;  it  seemed  to  hold  and 
claim  him  almost  passionately. 


310  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

"  Because  we  of  the  temple  need  such  as  thou  art,  my 
son,  in  these  new  days  when  the  old  faith  is  assailed 

—  ay !  even  by  such  as  Ram  Nath,  low-born,  with  his 
talk  of  ancient  wisdom,  his  cult  of  Western  ways  hidden 
in  the  old  teachings,  his  cult  of  the  East  blazoned  in 
the  outside  husks  of  truth  —  the  husks  that  we  of  the 
inner  life  set  at  their  proper  value  !  But  thou  art  of  us ! 
Deny  it  not  —  the  blood  in  thee  thrills  to  thy  finger-tips 
even  as  I  speak.  Thou  art  of  us !  and  thy  voice  trem- 
bled in  that  dawn  over  the  gayatri  thou  hadst  not  said 
for  years  —  nay,  start  not !  we  of  the  temple  know  all 

—  as  it  trembled,  Krishn,  when  thou  didst  first  learn  it 
here,  as  thou  art  to-day,  at  my  feet." 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  Chris  Davenant,  who 
had  so  often  ridden  in  a  Hammersmith  'bus,  was  con- 
scious of  but  two  things  in  the  wide  world.  That  thrill 
to  his  finger-tips,  and  the  scarlet  stain  of  a  woman's 
petticoat  passing  templewards  beyond  the  arches ;  the 
only  scrap  of  colour  in  the  strange  shadowless  light 
which  comes  to  India  before  the  sun  has  risen  over  the 
level  horizon. 

So,  once  more,  the  Swami's  voice  came,  still  dignified, 
but  with  a  trace  of  cunning  in  it  now,  of  argument. 
"  Thou  canst  not  do  it  unaided,  Krishn  ;  but  with  us 
behind  thee  —  giving  more  freedom,  remember,  than 
the  herd  knows  or  dreams — thou  couldst  have  thy  wish 

—  thou  couldst  teach  the  people." 

True.  Chris,  listening,  saw  this,  even  as  he  saw  that 
scarlet  streak  ;  but  all  the  while  he  was  thinking  idly 
that  if  Naraini  were  doomed  to  widowhood,  the  bridal 
scarlet  would  never  be  hers. 

And  yet  he  forgot  even  this  when  the  Swami  struck 
another  string  deftly.  "  Our  best  disciples  leave  us  "  — 
the  rhythm  grew  fateful,  mournful  —  "the  new  wis- 
dom takes  them  soul  and  body  ere  they  have  learned  to 
unhusk  the  old,  and  find  its  heart.  But  thou  hast  found 
it.  Come  back  to  us  and  teach  us  !  For  day  by  day 
the  husk  hides  more.  Even  on  the  river,  Krishn,  where 
the  old  sanctuaries  of  the  Godhead  in  Man  and  Woman 


THE    OLD    WINE  3II 

Stand  side  by  side,  the  younger  priests  quarrel  over  Her 
power  and  His.  As  if  the  Man  and  the  Woman  were  not, 
together,  the  Eternal  Mind  and  Body  !  And  the  quarrel 
grows  keen,  like  many  another  in  those  days ;  keener 
than  ever  since  the  golden  paper  fell,  prophesying  blood 
upon  Her  Altar.  Lies,  Krishn,  lies  !  we  know  them  so  ; 
but  we  are  driven  to  them  to  keep  our  hold  upon  the  peo- 
ple. What  other  hold  have  we  but  ignorance,  if  young 
wisdom  leaves  us  .''  " 

Chris  gave  a  sort  of  inarticulate  cry,  and  his  hands 
rose  passionately  to  his  ears  as  if  to  shut  out  the  words 
which  were  enlisting  all  things  that  were  good  in  him 
on  the  side  of  something  which  he  still  condemned.  But, 
as  he  stopped  his  ears  despairingly,  a  sound  came  which 
no  hand  could  quite  shut  out. 

It  was  the  clang  of  the  temple  bell,  proclaiming  that 
the  Eucharist  of  Hindooism  was  ready  for  communi- 
cants ;  that  the  Water  of  Life  which  had  touched  the 
gods  was  waiting  for  those  who  thirsted  for  it. 

Muffled,  half  heard,  it  seemed  to  vibrate  afresh  on 
every  tense  nerve  of  his  mind  and  body.  He  stood  up 
dazed,  half  hypnotised  by  it,  by  the  figure — a  dim 
shadow  of  a  man  that  had  risen  also,  smiling  softly 
among  the  dim  arches. 

"Come,  my  son,"  it  said,  "so  far  thou  art  with  us  ! 
Let  the  rest  be  for  a  while.  But  this,  stripped  of  its 
husk,  is  thine.  —  Come  !  " 

And  as  it  passed  silently  into  the  courtyard,  Chris 
passed  too,  lost  in  the  familiar  unfamiliarity  of  all 
things.  Of"  the  clustering  spikes  of  the  temples  seen 
against  the  primrose  sky;  of  the  drifting  hint  of  incense 
shut  in  by  the  arcades  ;  of  the  bare  empty  silence  broken 
only  by  that  clanging  bell.  The  scarlet  streak  was  pass- 
ing outwards,  already  sanctified,  approved.  Others  would 
come,  but  for  the  moment  there  was  solitude  ;  save  for 
that  half-dozen  of  indifferent  disciples  droning  over  their 
devotions,  and  the  officiating  priest,  unseen  within  the 
temple. 

Unseen,  because  it  was  the  Swami  himself  who,  re- 


312  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

turning  from  the  darkness  of  the  sanctuary  —  intowhich 
he  had  passed  swiftly,  leaving  Chris  hesitating  on  the 
lowest  step  —  stood  on  the  upper  one,  the  CJmrnin-dmnt 
in  his  hands,  and  bending  low,  said  — 

"  Drink,  Krishn  Davenund  !  and  live." 

The  words  came  like  a  command,  making  the  slender 
brown  hands  curve  themselves  into  a  cup. 

How  cool  the  holy  water  was  on  those  hot  palms! 
Dear  God  !  How  cool,  how  restful !  The  man's  whole 
soul  was  in  his  lips  as  he  stooped  and  drank  thirstily. 

A  dream  !  a  dream  !  but  what  a  heavenly  dream  ! 

Chris  stood  there,  in  that  shadowless  light  of  dawn, 
unable  even  to  realise  what  the  dream  was.  And  then, 
suddenly,  a  great  desire  to  be  alone,  and  yet  to  find 
companionship  —  a  shrinking  from  the  routine  around 
him,  and  a  longing  to  find  shelter  in  the  hidden  heart  of 
things  —  came  to  him  as  the  worshippers,  answering  the 
call  of  the  bell,  began  to  crowd  about  the  temple.  So  — 
the  Swami  having  kept  his  promise  of  asking  no  more  of 
him  for  the  time  —  he  passed  out  of  the  court  into  the 
bazaar  beyond.  But  here  the  world  was  already  chaf- 
fering over  the  needs  of  the  body,  and  Chris,  who  was 
only  conscious  of  his  soul,  stood  bewildered  in  it,  uncer- 
tain which  way  to  go.  Nothing  seemed  to  claim  him, 
not  even  his  work,  for  it  was  Sunday  morning. 

And  after  that  act  of  communion,  the  hope  of  com- 
panionship anywhere  seemed,  strangely  enough,  further 
from  him  than  ever.  So  he  stood  idly  watching  the 
worshippers  pass  in  and  out  of  the  arched  entry  to  the 
temple  court,  leaving  the  world  and  coming  back  to  it 
with  businesslike  faces,  until  he  saw  Ram  Nath  ap- 
proaching him,  and  the  sight  made  him  pull  himself 
together  swiftly. 

"  The  very  man  I  want !  "  said  Ram  Nath  in  Eng- 
lish, with  such  an  elaborate  lack  of  surprise  at  Chris's 
costume  that  the  latter  felt  instantly  that  it  was  known, 
and  had  been  discussed  in  Shark  Lane.  "  If  you  will 
wait  a  moment,  I  will  walk  —  er  —  back  with  you." 
The  hesitancy  showed  that  something  else  was  known 


THE    OLD    WINE  313 

also,  and  Chris  felt  a  faint  resentment  come  to  lessen 
his  forlornness  as  he  waited  while  Ram  Nath  disap- 
peared towards  the  temple  and  reappeared  again  wip- 
ing his  hands  daintily  with  a  hemstitched  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

"  We  of  the  world,"  he  explained  as  he  tucked  his  arm 
English  fashion  into  Chris  Davenant's,  "  have  to  keep 
in  touch  with  the  priests.  You  disagree,  I  know ;  but  I 
hold  you  wrong.  We  are  driven  to  acquiesce  in  much 
we  think  untrue  in  order  to  keep  our  hold  on  the  masses. 
What  other  hold  have  we  but  their  ignorance,  if  they 
deny  our  wisdom.''" 

The  forlornness  deepened  again  round  poor  Chris. 
Here  was  the  Swami's  argument  upside  down. 

"  What  was  it  you  wanted  to  see  me  about .'' "  he  asked 
resignedly,  feeling  that  he  could  not  go  on  with  that 
subject. 

"  About  this  afternoon,"  began  Ram  Nath,  and  Chris 
stared  blankly. 

What !  was  it  possible  !  his  companion  continued  ;  had 
he  forgotten  that  the  afternoon  was  to  see  the  realisation 
of  their  long-cherished  project  of  founding  an  Anglo- 
Vernacular  College  .''  It  came  back  to  Chris  then,  and 
he  hastened  to  deny  what  had  really  been  the  case ; 
whereupon  Ram  Nath  went  on,  mollified.  At  the  last 
moment,  it  seemed,  some  one  had  remembered  that  Lady 
Arbuthnot  —  who  had  kindly  consented  to  lay  the  stone 
—  ought  to  be  presented  with  a  bouquet;  and  Hafiz 
Ahmad  had  claimed  the  honour  for  his  wife,  thereby 
raising  so  much  jealousy  in  Shark  Lane  that  he.  Ram 
Nath,  thought  the  only  solution  of  the  difficulty  was  to 
entrust  the  giving  to  Mrs.  Chris,  as  wife  of  the  Vice- 
President  of  the  Managing  Committee  (Chris  heard  him- 
self so  described  with  a  sense  of  absolute  bewilderment) ; 
only,  of  course,  it  might  not,  perhaps,  be  convenient  now. 

Chris  came  back  to  sudden  perception  of  the  other's 
meaning. 

"  She  will  be  very  glad,"  he  said  quickly  ;  "  I  will  tell 
her  when  I  go  home." 


314  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

It  was  done  in  a  moment ;  but  Chris  felt  his  dream  to 
be  madder  than  ever  as  he  realised  that  his  afternoon's 
occupation  would  be  standing  in  a  frock-coat  simpering, 
while  Viva  presented  a  bouquet.  How  prettily  she 
would  do  it.  How  beautifully  she  would  be  dressed. 
Then  in  the  evening  .■'  In  the  evening  would  the  Swami 
come  and  ask  for  an  answer .'' 

Meanwhile,  Ram  Nath  was  full  of  relief.  That 
would  settle  the  difficulty ;  really  a  most  serious  one, 
since  nothing  must  mar  the  harmony  of  the  memora- 
ble occasion.  It  would  be  singularly  appropriate  too, 
because,  in  order  to  ensure  a  large  attendance,  it  had 
been  arranged  to  hold  an  Extraordinary  Chapter  of 
the  "  National  Guild  for  Encouraging  Comradeship," 
to  which  most  of  the  English  officials  and  their  wives 
belonged.  In  fact,  it  was  to  be  a  memorable  occasion, 
and  one  that  would  fully  justify  our  popular  Lieutenant- 
Governor  in,  for  the  nonce,  waiving  his  rule  against  Sun- 
day ceremonials  in  order  to  allow  all  employees  to  be 
present.  Having  here  cut  in  on  the  lines  of  the  speech 
he  had  prepared  for  the  afternoon,  Ram  Nath  was  flu- 
ency itself,  and  went  on  and  on  quite  contentedly,  while 
Chris,  absorbed  in  that  vision  of  himself  in  a  frock-coat, 
listened  without  hearing.  After  all,  which  was  the  real 
Krishn  Davenund,  which  the  ideal  .-•  One  was  the  older 
certainly ;  but  change  must  come  to  all  things. 

They  had  reached  the  river  steps  by  this  time,  and 
he  paused  —  making  Ram  Nath  pause  also  —  to  look 
down  on  a  scene  which  had  not  changed  a  hair-breadth 
in  essentials  for  thousands  of  years.  Yet  Chris  Dave- 
nant's  eye  noted  one  change  of  detail,  in  a  moment,  as 
a  woman  passed  him  on  her  way  to  fill  her  waterpot. 
There  was  a  new  sort  of  amulet  on  her  wrist ;  an  amulet 
made  out  of  a  brass  cartridge  casing.  He  glanced  round 
quickly  to  see  if  other  women  were  wearing  it,  and,  by 
so  doing,  recognised  rather  a  momentous  fact ;  namely, 
that  there  were  singularly  few  women  to  be  seen,  and 
that  all  who  were,  belonged  to  the  working  class. 

He  turned  to  Ram  Nath  instantly  and  pointed  out 


THE    OLD    WINE  315 

both  signs,  as  to  one  who  ought  to  know  their  vakie. 
"What  is  up?"  he  said  briefly.  "You  must  have  seen 
these  amulets  being  sold,  as  I  did.  Is  it  a  trick }  and 
who  is  doing  it }  and  why  .■'  " 

His  companion  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  The  priests, 
I  should  say  —  it  is  on  a  par  with  the  paper  which  fell 
from  heaven.  There  is  always  something.  You  think 
we  ought  to  protest ;  but  why  }  Such  manifestations 
of  the  temper  of  the  masses  strengthen  the  hands  of 
the  Opposition  by  engendering  a  fear  of  resistance  in 
the  Government,  and  so  making  for  the  considerate 
treatment  at  which  we  aim.  It  is  not  as  if  such  trivi- 
alities could  do  harm." 

"They  might  —  there  is  some  hope  of  mischief  be- 
hind them  —  there  must  be  —  " 

"Mischief!"  echoed  Ram  Nath  acutely;  "you  know 
as  well  as  I  that  there  are  many  folk  in  Nushapore 
whose  only  hope  lies  in  mischief,  and  here  comes  one 
of  them."  He  pointed  to  Burkut  AH,  who,  accom- 
panied by  a  servant  carrying  a  bundle  of  kites,  was 
passing  towards  the  bastion  beyond  the  bridge.  He 
was  followed  by  other  claimants  to  the  "Sovereignty 
of  Air,"  which  was  due  to  be  decided  that  evening 
after  the  kites  had  been  chosen  and  entered  for  the 
competition.  Ram  Nath  looked  after  the  faded  bro- 
cades contemptuously.  "Poor  devils!"  he  said  —  as 
an  Englishman  might  have  said  it  —  "  one  cannot  help 
pitying  them,  and  yet,  between  ourselves,  if  we  were 
in  power  we  couldn't  do  anything  else  with  them ; 
though,  of  course,  as  the  Opposition,  it  does  not  do 
to  say  so !  But  to  return  to  our  argument.  Believe 
me,  the  ignorant  masses  are  helpless  without  a  lead, 
and  we,  the  educated  party,  will  not  give  it  towards 
anything  unconstitutional." 

"  But  others  might.     Burkut  AH,  for  instance." 

"  Burkut  AH }  Not  to-day,  at  any  rate  !  He  will  be 
occupied  in  the  Sovereignty  of  Air  —  really  an  appro- 
priate employment,  is  it  not }  "  repHed  Ram  Nath  Hghtly. 
"  And  as  we  —  and  all   Nushapore  which  carries  any 


3l6  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

weight  —  will  be  otherwise  engaged  also,  this  affair 
of  amulets  —  even  if  there  is  anything  in  it  —  will  be 
like  the  heaven-sent  paper  by  to-morrow.  I,  at  any 
rate,  know  of  no  reason  why  this  should  not  be  so," 
he  added  a  trifle  resentfully,  seeing  the  look  on  his 
companion's  face,  "  and  if  I  don't,  who  should  ?  Well ! 
good-bye,  if  you  are  not  coming  on." 

Chris  felt  doubly  relieved ;  partly  at  the  almost-un- 
hoped-for straightforwardness  of  Ram  Nath's  words, 
but  mostly  because  he  had  been  growing  conscious, 
during  the  conversation,  of  the  fact  that,  wherever  he 
might  find  comradeship,  it  was  not  here.  Still  in  that 
same  weary  bewilderment,  therefore,  he  seated  himself 
on  the  uppermost  step  and  looked  down  to  where,  in 
the  deep  shadow  of  the  archway  of  Mai  Kali's  temple, 
he  could  just  see  —  above  the  heads  of  a  little  crowd 
listening  to  a  declaiming  priest  —  a  hint  of  the  idol's  red 
outstretched  arms. 

They  brought  back  to  him,  in  an  instant,  the  sense 
of  his  own  personal  powerlessness.  Gripped  on  either 
side  by  East  and  West,  what  could  he  do .''  In  the 
afternoon  a  frock-coat !  In  the  evening  the  Swami 
with  his  question !  How  should  he,  how  could  he 
answer  it  .'*  How  could  he  condemn  Naraini  to  a  living 
death .''  How  could  he  give  up  the  past  with  its  good 
and  evil,  the  future  with  its  evil  and  its  good.  Putting 
himself  aside,  for  the  truth's  sake,  what  ought  he  to  do .'' 
God !  how  powerless  he  was !  I\Iai  Kali's  widespread 
arms  seemed  to  close  on  him,  to  choke  him. 

Till  suddenly,  a  swift  vitality  came  back  to  him,  as  a 
whistle  —  mellow  as  a  blackbird's  —  made  itself  heard 
behind  him.  He  turned  with  a  smile,  with  a  sense  of 
relief,  knowing  it  was  Jan-Ali-shan. 

It  was.  Jan-Ali-shan  coming  to  feed  the  monkeys. 
Jan-Ali-shan  looking  marvellously  spruce,  alert,  self- 
respecting,  seeing  that  most  of  his  night's  rest  had  been 
on  a  brick  stair  ! 

"  Mornin',  sir  !  "  he  said,  touching  his  cap  decorously  ; 
but  his  hand  lingered  to  hide  a  smile,  as  he  added  with  deep 


THE    OLD    WINE  317 

concern,  "  Ain't  lost  nothin'  more  o'  your  wardrobe  to- 
day, sir,  I  hope  ?  "  Then  his  recollections  got  the  better 
of  his  politeness,  and  the  laugh  came  openly.  "  Beg 
pardin,  sir,  I'm  sure,  but  wen  I  think  o'  ole  'Oneyman 
and  them  pants  —  oh  !  Lordy  Lord  !  " 

The  recollection,  however,  brought  more  than  amuse- 
ment to  poor  Chris,  who,  in  truth,  felt  as  if  he  had  lost 
everything.  It  brought  a  sense  of  grateful  comradeship, 
and  there  was  quite  a  tremble  in  his  voice,  a  mist  in  his 
eyes,  as  he  said,  "  It's  all  very  well  to  laugh,  but  you 
saved  my  life  that  day,  Ellison;  you  know  you  did.  I've 
often  thought  of  it  since  —  " 

The  memory  of  kindness  received  was  almost  too 
much  for  him,  he  paused,  unable  to  go  on. 

John  Ellison  looked  the  other  way  as  he  sat  down  at 
a  respectful  distance,  and  began  to  scatter  sugar-drops 
to  the  monkeys.     Then  he  cleared  his  throat  elaborately. 

"  Like  as  you  saved  me,  I  expect,  sir,  from  breaking 
my  neck  over  them  blamed  stairs  last  night,  sir.  One 
good  turn  deserves  another,  as  the  sayin'  is,  so  we're 
about  quits.  Not,"  he  went  on  as  if  to  make  a  diversion, 
"  that  I  was,  so  to  speak,  onnecessary  drunk,  sir,  for  it 
was  a  case  o'  gettin'  tight  or  killin'  a  chap  as  cut  me  out, 
fair  an'  square,  with  my  fancy.  So,  it  bein'  fair  an' 
square,  I  chose  the  better  part  an'  drowned  my  sorrers  in 
the  fiowin'  bowl.  It's  surprisin',"  he  continued,  with  the 
affable  defiance  with  which  he  always  alluded  to  his  own 
lapses  from  grace,  "wot  a  teeny  drop  o'  whisky  will  drown 
'em  ;  don't  it,  sir .''  "  As  he  scattered  the  sugar-drops  he 
sang  the  chorus  of  a  drinking-song  with  great  gusto. 

They  were  an  odd  couple  those  two,  the  alien  feeding 
the  sacred  monkeys,  the  native  watching  him  silently, 
and  both  conscious  of  a  bond  of  fellowship  between  them. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  replied  Chris,  after  such  a  lapse  of 
time  that  the  remark  seemed  almost  irrelevant,  "  but  I 
never  tried  it.     I'm  a  teetotaller." 

"  Deary  me  ! "  ejaculated  Jan-Ali-shan  sympatheti- 
cally. It  was  really  the  only  remark  he  could  think  of 
in  such  an  extraordinary  connection. 


3l8  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"  It  doesn't  last,  though,  does  it  ?  "  asked  Chris  after 
another  long  pause.  "  And  it  gives  you  a  headache 
next  morning,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

Jan-Ali-shan's  fluency  returned  to  him.  "  Lor'  love 
you,  no,  sir !  Not  if  you's  used  to  it ;  special  if  kind 
friends  put  you  to  by-bye  proper."  He  broke  off,  then 
turned  to  Chris  and  shook  his  head  —  "  Now  you,  sir,  if 
I  may  make  so  bold,  looks  as  if  you  'ad  one.  You  takes 
things  too  dutiful,  sir,  I  expec's.  It's  'ard  on  the  'ead, 
sir,  is  duty." 

Even  so  much  sympathy  drove  Chris  to  hiding  the 
mist  in  his  eyes  by  watching  the  monkeys.  They  were 
jostling  and  hustling,  as  ever,  over  the  prize ;  but  the 
sight,  for  a  wonder,  had  brought  few  spectators,  and 
such  as  they  were  stood  far  off,  more  curious  than 
amused. 

Jan-Ali-shan,  looking  towards  them,  raised  his  eye- 
brows and  nodded  carelessly.  "  Got  the  'ump  to-day, 
'as  you,  Ramsammy  '^.  Well,  keep  it,  sonny !  It  don't 
make  no  odds  to  me  or  'Oneyman.     Do  it,  siree .''  ". 

Apparently  none,  for  the  hoary  old  sinner,  out  and 
away  the  tamest  there,  was  pouching  sugar-drops  as  fast 
as  he  could  from  the  loafer's  hand. 

"  Ellison,"  came  Chris  Davenant's  voice  at  last,  with 
a  note  of  decision  in  it,  "  what  would  you  do  if  you 
found  yourself  in  —  in  such  a  tight  place  that  you 
couldn't  —  yes,  that  you  couldn't  possibly  get  out  of  it .-'" 

"  Do .-'  "  echoed  the  other  slowly,  as  he  shook  out  the 
crumbs  and  tore  the  paper  into  fragments.  "  W'y,  kill 
the  chap  as  put  me  there,  if  it  was  John  Ellison  'imself 
as  done  the  job !     That's  what  I'd  do,  sir." 

Chris  rose,  and  the  note  of  decision  was  stronger. 
"  Thanks,"  he  said  briefly,  *'  I  think  you're  right." 

But  Jan-Ali-shan  had  risen  also,  and  now  stood  facing 
his  superior  officer  with  an  expression  of  kindly  toler- 
ance and  mournful  respect. 

"  Not,  sir,  as  there  ever  is  sich  an  almighty  tight  place, 
as  a  chap  can't  get  out  of  by  leavin'  a  h'arm  or  a  leg  or 
a  bit  of  his'self  generally  to  be  cast  into  'ell  fire,  as  it 


THE    OLD    WINE  319 

say  in  'Ol}^  Writ ;  for  there  ain't  nothin'  impossible, 
if  you've  enough  of  the  devil  in  you  —  that's  'ow  it 
comes  in,  sir ; "  here  he  paused,  doubtful,  perhaps, 
whether  Holy  Writ  contained  this  also,  then  went  on 
easily,  "  for  it  ain't  no  manner  of  use,  sir,  reachin'  round 
for  things  as  you  can't  catch  no  real  holt  of  —  you  must 
jes'  take  wot  comes  'andy,  though  it  mayn't  be  much  to 
be  proud  of  —  such  as  cuss  words  an'  kicks  an'  that 
like.  But  they  give  a  powerful  grip  sometimes,  sir,  as 
you'd  find,  savin'  your  presence,  if  you  was  to  give  'em 
a  fair  try."  He  paused  again,  looked  at  Chris  tenta- 
tively, then  smiled  a  perfectly  seraphic  smile  full  of  pity, 
wisdom,  almost  of  tenderness.  "  If  I  might  make  so  bold, 
sir,  w'ot  a  man  you  an'  me'd  make  if  we  was  mixed  up  ! 
H'arch-h'angels  wouldn't  'ave  a  look  in!  And  w'ot's 
more,  I  shouldn't  'ave  to  clean  damn  myself  keepin' 
them  Kiisseye  coolies  from  sneakin'  the  cold  chisels ; 
an'  a  good  name  too  for  the  lot,  though  it  is  cuss-you  as 
I  make  it  in  general." 

''  Kjizaif  echoed  Chris  quickly.  "What!  are  those 
fellows  from  the  butcher's  quarter  giving  trouble  — and 
I  only  put  them  on  out  of  charity  .'*  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  before .'' " 

But  Jan-Ali-shan  had  reverted  to  his  affable  indiffer- 
ence. "Trouble,"  he  echoed  in  his  turn,  "Lord,  no, 
sir!  I  has  to  read  the  Riot  Act  summary  most  days  — 
they  get  quarrelling  with  the  'Indoos  over  some  cow- 
killin'  tommy-rot ;  but  w'en  it  come  to  sneakin'  cold 
chisels,  I  'ad  to  knock  'arf  a  dozen  o'  'em  down.  But 
they  don't  give  no  trouble  to  speak  of.  Nor  won't,"  he 
added  significantly,  "  if  they're  spoke  to  proper." 

"  I'll  see  to  it  to-morrow,"  said  Chris,  and  then,  once 
more,  wondered  at  his  own  words.  This  afternoon  a  frock- 
coat  ;  to-morrow  an  inquiry  into  a  workmen's  quarrel ; 
and  between  the  two,  inevitably,  that  decision.  The  rest 
was  all  unreal,  but  that  was  certain,  that  must  come. 

Jan-Ali-shan,  however,  as  —  after  touching  his  cap 
decorously- — he  moved  away,  sang 

"  To-morrow  will  be  Monday  " 


320  VOICES  LV   THE   NIGHT 

as  if  all  the  foundations  of  his  world  were  absolutely 
sure. 

And  there  were  others,  besides  these  two,  on  the  river 
steps  that  morning  whose  outlook  on  the  future  showed 
the  same  divergence.  A  couple  of  municipal  scavengers, 
armed  with  the  broom  and  basket  which  under  our  rule 
bids  defiance  to  privilege,  prejudice,  and  privacy,  talked 
with  cheerful  certainty  as  they  swept  up  the  paper  Jan- 
Ali-shan  had  torn  to  bits.  The  Sirkar  would  have  to 
employ  everybody's  relations  if  the  plague  went  on  as 
it  had  begun.  They  were  shutting  the  shops  already  in 
the  butcher's  quarter,  the  hospitals  were  full,  the  bazaars 
empty.  Of  a  surety  there  was  a  good  time  coming  for 
scavengers ! 

Two  women,  however,  returning  with  their  waterpots 
from  listening  at  the  temple,  agreed  that  if,  as  the  priest 
said,  Mai  Kali  had  declared  there  must  be  blood  on  Her 
altars  ere  the  plague  was  stayed,  what  was  the  use  of 
amulets.'*  Besides,  who  could  tell  if  the  promise  was 
not  a  trick ;  who,  briefly,  could  tell  anything  except 
that  it  was  an  ill  time  for  virtuous  women,  and  that 
those  w^ere  lucky  who  could  stay  at  home.  So  with 
furtive  glances,  and  keeping  close  together,  they  shuffled 
back  to  some  dim  alley,  to  retail  what  they  had  heard. 


CHAPTER   XXI 


RED    PAINT 


Over  on  the  other  side  of  the  city,  however,  on  the 
wide  stretch  of  sandy  waste  behind  an  outlying  dispen- 
sary which  had  been  turned  into  a  segregation  camp, 
the  advocates  of  certainty  and  uncertainty  had  changed 
places.  Here,  in  the  little  grass-screened  yard,  six  feet 
square,  which  Jack  Raymond's  kindliness  had  secured 
for  the  ordinary  reed  hut  to  which  poor  crushed  old 
Auntie  Khojee  had  been  brought,  it  was  a  scavenger 
who  doubted,  a  woman  who  —  even  amid  tears  —  had 
faith. 

"Lo!  brother,"  said  Khojee  in  gentle  reproof,  as  she 
sat  on  the  string  bed  hiding  her  grief-blurred  face  dis- 
creetly from  the  tottering  old  man  who  had  been  sent 
in  to  sweep  out  the  premises ;  an  old  man  bowed, 
palsied,  senile,  yet  still,  as  a  male  creature,  claiming  that 
calm  perfunctory  drawing  of  a  veil  an  inch  or  two  more 
over  a  withered  cheek,  "  thou  shouldst  not  repeat  such 
tales ;  they  do  harm.  As  I  have  told  thee  before,  God 
knows  what  happened  was  not  the  fault  of  the  Huzoors. 
It  was  Jehan's,  and  mine,  and  Lateef's,  if  indeed  it  was 
ought  but  God's  will.  And  lies  will  not  bring  her  back 
again !  It  was  lies  that  killed  her,  Noormahal,  Light  of 
Palaces  !  "  —  a  sob  choked  the  quavering  voice,  but  she 
struggled  on  truthfully — "and  the  Hiizoors  were  kind 
in  concealing  what  they  could.  What  use  to  drag  the 
honour  of  the  King's  House  in  the  dust  1  Even  Jehan 
saw  that  and  held  his  peace.  It  is  ye  —  ye  of  the  bas- 
ket and  broom  —  strangers  —  not  of  the  house  knowing 
the  honour  of  the  house  as  in  old  time  —  who  have  done 
ill  in  talking !  And  of  the  girl  too.  Lo  !  what  thou 
Y  321 


322  VOICES  IN   THE   NIGHT 

sayest  of  her  and  the  pearls  may  be  true  ;  but  I  know 
naught  of  it,  and  Jehan  hath  Hed  ever.  Then  for  the 
bracelets  !  Have  I  not  worn  one  and  cried  for  death? 
But  deatli  has  not  come,  as  thou  sayest  it  comes ;  though 
I  have  worn  tJiis  these  two  days." 

She  held  out  her  thin  arm  as  she  spoke,  in  order  to 
show  the  ram  riicki  which  Jack  Raymond,  in  his  efforts 
to  reassure  her,  had  fastened  round  her  wrist. 

The  old  man  ceased  sweeping  to  peer  at  it,  then 
chuckled  wheezily.  "  Oho  !  Oho  !  bibi!  and  wherefore 
not,  since  that  is  a  rain  rticki  which  all  know  of  old ! 
But  this  other  I  speak  of  is  new.  I  tell  thee  it  hath  the 
death-mark  on  it,  and  the  arrow-head  which  claims  all 
for  the  Sirkars  use.  Its  like  none  have  ever  seen 
before.  They  sold  it  deceitfully  as  safeguard  yesterday 
at  Sheik  Chilli's  fair,  and  men  bought  it  for  their  wives 
and  children  —  A/a  !  the  tyranny  of  it,  the  cleverness! 
who  can  stand  against  their  ways  }  So  now  it  is  proved 
a  sign  of  death  indeed ;  all  who  wear  it,  all  who  have 
worn  it,  are  in  the  Huzoo/s  power.  When  they  are 
wanted,  they  will  die." 

Despite  her  disbelief  —  a  disbelief  founded  largely  on 
her  own  kindly  grateful  heart  —  Aunt  Khojeefelt  a  cold 
creep  in  her  old  bones.  "  How  canst  tell  by  now } 
Some  may  escape,"  she  quavered. 

The  old  scavenger  waggled  his  head  wisely.  "  This 
I  know,  bibi,  that  in  the  Kutccks  and  LoJiars"  houses  — 
yea !  and  in  others  too  where  the  sickness  was  rife,  for, 
see  you,  it  hath  been  in  the  city  this  fortnight  past, 
though  folk  held  their  tongues  —  all  bought  these  brace- 
lets for  safety.  All !  and  it  is  from  these  very  houses 
that  the  dead  come !  Am  I  not  Dom  by  craft,  though 
I  grow  too  old  and  crooked  to  straighten  even  dead 
limbs }  Have  I  not  seen  .''  I  tell  thee,  bibi,  not  one  of 
the  corpses  taken  out  of  the  city  this  morning  but  had 
the  bracelet  on  its  wrist !  Ay !  and  not  one  of  those 
carried  by  force  to  the  hospitarl  but  had  it  too  !  " 

It  was  an  absolutely  true  statement,  even  if  capable 
of  a  more  natural  explanation. 


RED  PAINT  323 

"But  RaJimdn-sahib,  the  bracelet-brother,  did  not  give 
them  bracelets  ?  "  protested  Aunt  Khojee,  falling  back 
fearfully  on  what  still  seemed  incredible. 

"God  knows,"  mumbled  the  superannuated  streaker 
of  dead  things.  "  Mayhap  he  did  not  sell  them,  but  it 
was  by  order.  A  Hindoo  in  the  city,  Govind  by  name, 
hath  a  paper  with  the  order  written  on  it,  and  signed  by 
the  Lat-saJiib  and  Wictoria-Qiieen.  So  there  is  no  lie 
there,  bibi  T' 

He  passed  out  resentfully,  driving  the  refuse  he  had 
swept  up,  into  the  world  beyond  the  six-feet-square  yard, 
with  a  last  flourish  of  his  broom. 

Khojee,  left  forlorn,  sat  looking  at  her  ram  rucki 
doubtfully.  Could  the  tale  be  true  .-*  Could  the  Huzoors 
have  been  capable  of  such  a  devilish  treachery  }  Even 
so,  he,  Rahmans aJiib,  had  not  been  so.  His  bracelet 
had  brought  safety.  Even  after  two  days,  Auntie  Kho- 
jee recognised  this.  The  dagJidar-saJnb  had  laughed  at 
her  fear  of  plague ;  they  had  given  her  seclusion  of  the 
strictest ;  a  Musulman  woman,  who  had  called  her  "  my 
princess,"  had  brought  her  better  food  than  she  had  had 
for  years,  and  even  Lateef  had  been  allowed  to  come 
during  the  day  and  talk  to  her.  Last,  not  least,  the 
dagJidar  himself  had  respected  her  veil,  and  sent  a  miss- 
saJiiba  instead  —  a  miss  in  a  curious  dress,  who  had  let 
her  cry  about  Noormahal,  and  comforted  her  with  car- 
damoms —  real  cardamoms.  It  had  almost  been  a  visit 
of  condolence!  Then  she  was  told  that  in  eight  days 
she  might  go  back  ;  though  not  to  the  wide  dreary  house, 
since  it  had  already  been  utilised  as  a  hospital.  But 
Raliman-saJiib  had  promised  to  settle  that  from  the  rent 
of  this,  Jehan  should  pay  for  a  more  suitable  lodging, 
and  also  allow  her  a  proper  pension. 

A  bracelet-brother  indeed !  Yet  lying  tongues  tra- 
duced him  and  she,  a  bracelet-sister,  could  do  nothing 
but  listen  to  them !  She  wept  softly  over  her  own  in- 
gratitude, so  that  Lateefa,  finding  her  thus  engaged, 
attempted  consolation  on  the  old  old  lines  which  belong 
to  all  faiths  all  people,  by  saying  that  it  was  God's  will, 


324  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

that  Noormahal  was  taken  from  the  evil  to  come,  that 
she  was  at  peace ;  until,  finding  his  comfort  unavailing, 
and  being  pressed  for  time,  he  told  the  old  lady  gently 
that  she  must  not  expect  any  more  of  his  companionship 
that  day,  since,  the  term  of  his  more  rigorous  segrega- 
tion being  over  he  was  free  to  go  out,  provided  he 
returned  by  sundown. 

Then  to  his  surprise  she  suddenly  ceased  her  curious 
whimpering  wail,  and  looked  up  at  him  swiftly. 

"  Thou  canst  go  out !  Then  thou  shalt  go  to  Jiim  and 
tell  him  of  the  lies  !  Yea  !  and  tell  him  that  I,  Khojeeya 
Khanum,  wear  his  gift,  and  —  and  will  never  forget  him, 
and  his  beauty,  and  his  kindness  !  " 

"  Tell  hi7n  ?  "  echoed  the  kite-maker,  wondering  if  he 
stood  on  his  head  or  his  heels  when  he  was  asked  to 
take  so  fervent  a  message  to  a  man,  from  so  discreet  a 
lady  as  Aunt  Khojee.  It  did  not  take  long,  however,  to 
make  him  understand  ;  for  the  old  scavenger  had  swept 
out  the  men's  quarters  also.  But,  to  the  dear  old  lady's 
disgust,  he  was  inclined  to  laugh  at,  and  be  sceptical 
over,  both  her  indignation  and  that  of  those  who  had 
bought  the  amulet.  The  tale  was  not  likely  to  be  true. 
Why  should  the  Hnzoors  go  such  a  roundabout  way  to 
work  when  they  had  soldiers  and  guns }  To  be  sure, 
these  were  few  in  Nushapore  at  the  present  moment, 
and  folk  were  saying  that  the  talk  about  Sobrai  and 
Noormahal  and  Dilaram  —  God  curse  the  low-born  pryers 
who  know  not  how  to  keep  silence  for  decency's  sake ! 
—  had  set  the  pultaii  (native  regiment),  which  was  a 
high-class  Mohammedan  one,  by  the  ears ;  but  there 
were  plenty  of  rigiiuents  close  by.  And,  if  it  tvas  true, 
what  good  would  a  message  to  RaJimdii-sahib  do .''  It 
would  only  make  him  angry.  And  if  the  tale  were  a 
lie,  what  would  he  care }  Did  the  Hnzoors  ever  care 
what  folk  said  }  Never  !  That  was  why  they  ruled  the 
land. 

But  Aunt  Khdjee  was  firm ;  even  when  Lateef  —  who 
had  told  her  everything —  protested  that  he  had  no  time 
to  lose ;  that  if  he  was  to  have  any  chance  of  getting  at 


RED  PAINT  325 

the  ring,  which,  he  trusted,  was  still  concealed  among 
the  kites,  it  must  be  before  their  selection  for  the  flying 
match.  Since,  once  they  were  chosen,  none  might  touch 
them  till  the  "  Sovereignty  of  Air  "  was  decided.  Even 
now  he  might  be  too  late  for  the  courtyard,  and  have  to 
go  to  the  turret,  ready  to  seize  his  chance  during  the 
trials.  And  what  is  more  —  here  he  gave  a  glance  at 
the  sky  —  if  he  knew  aught  of  kite-flying,  those  with 
fair  ballast  would  surely  be  chosen  to-day ;  and  there- 
fore, of  course,  the  one  which  had  the  ring  hidden  in 
the  guise  of  a  bit  of  brick  within  a  little  calico  bag ! 

"  Then  it  is  safe  so  far.  It  will  be  guarded  till  even- 
ing, and  then  thou  canst  see  to  it,"  asserted  Aunt  Kho- 
jee  autocratically. 

"  Not  till  after  sundown,  mayhap,  and  I  must  return 
then;  and  who  can  tell  what  may  happen  if  it  is  left 
longer,"  persisted  Lateef. 

"  Let  what  may  happen  !  The  daghdars  will  not  kill 
thee — they  are  kind;  and  what  is  the  ring,  now,  but 
empty  honour,  since  there  is  no  heir.''  But  the  other  is 
different.  RaJimdn-saJiib  is  bracelet-brother.  He  hath 
been  kind  —  we  owe  him  this.  Wouldst  thou  be  even 
as  Jehan,  Lateef,  willing  to  steal  honour  from  any .'' " 
Never  in  her  long  life  had  Aunt  Khojee  been  so 
obstinate. 

"  I  care  not,  so  Jehan  doth  not  steal  the  ring,"  mut- 
tered Lateef  revengefully.  "  Nay,  sister,  I  will  not 
go ! " 

She  bent  towards  him  and  laid  a  wistful  hand  on  his. 
"  But  if  God  give  him  back  honour,  Lateef,  should  we 
hinder  it  .-*  —  we  who  have  sinned  also  }  Not  so,  brother  ! 
Let  Him  decide ;  and  for  the  rest,  help  me.  Lo !  for 
all  her  years,  this  is  the  first  bond  between  Khojeeya 
Khanum,  King's  Daughter,  and  a  man.  Let  her  keep 
it  faithful,  unstained  !  " 

Lateef  gave  an  odd  sound,  some  part  of  it  being  his 
thin  musical  laugh.  "  Sure,  sister,  thou  wouldst  make 
a  saint  even  of  a  kite-flyer  !  "  he  said  lightly.  "  So  be 
it !     I  will  go  by  way  of  the  courtyard.     Then  if  the 


326  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

kites  be  gone  already  —  as  I  misdoubt  me  —  I  will  to 
Rahman  sahib'?,  with  thy  message  ;  so  to  the  bastion  —  or 
wait  till  evening  as  thou  sayest.  'Tis  a  chance  either 
way ;  and  mayhap,  if  I  give  God  His  will  with  Lateef 
whom  He  made,  He  may  give  Lateef  his  will  with  the 
kites  he  made !     That  is  but  fair,  sister." 

"  Yea,  brother,"  assented  Khojeeya  piously,  not  in 
the  least  understanding  what  he  said.  "So  it  will  come 
to  pass,  surely,  since  He  is  just." 

Thus  it  happened,  an  hour  or  two  after  this,  when 
Grace  Arbuthnot  was  once  more  standing"  beside  her 
husband's  office  table,  as  she  had  stood  a  few  weeks 
before  with  the  telegram  which  withdrew  the  confiden- 
tial plan  of  campaign  in  her  hand,  that  a  card  was 
brought  in  to  Sir  George  by  the  orderly.  He  put  it  on 
the  table  with  a  frown,  ere  looking  at  his  wife  again, 
and  finishing  his  remark  — 

"  Tear  it  up,  my  dear,  and  throw  it  into  the  waste- 
paper  basket !  Why  should  you  worry  about  the  thing  .-• 
I  only  showed  it  to  you  to  amuse  you,  and  because  it 
was  a  good  example  of  the  lies  the  natives  will  tell,  the 
threats  they  will  use  —  on  occasion." 

Lady  Arbuthnot,  who  was  once  more  holding  a  paper 
in  her  hand,  looked  up  from  it.     Her  face  was  pale. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  inquire,  George,  I  really  do. 
If  there  is  anything  —  " 

"  My  dear  child ! "  interrupted  her  husband  impa- 
tiently, "  what  can  there  be  .-*  Didn't  I  burn  the  thing 
with  my  own  hands  .''  You  mustn't  get  nervous,  Grace ; 
I  've  noticed  you  have  been  so  ever  since  —  well !  for 
some  little  time  past.  And,  of  course,  all  that  about 
the  pearls,  and  the  loathsome  imbroglio  regarding 
them,  is  annoying.  I  should  like  to  kick  Lucanaster 
and  Jehan  Aziz  and  the  lot !  Anything  more  unfortu- 
nate at  this  juncture  can  scarcely  be  imagined ;  but 
there  is  nothing  to  worry  about."  He  laid  his  hand  on 
her  shoulder  as  he  rose  to  touch  the  hand-bell.  "  And 
now,  my  dear,"  he  added,  "  I  have  to  see  Mr.  Raymond 
—  he  has  written  'important'  on  his  card." 


RED  PAINT  327 

"  Mr.  Raymond !  "  echoed  Grace,  her  face  flushing, 
then  growing  pale  again.  "  Oh,  George  !  "  she  paused 
for  a  moment,  then  spoke  more  calmly  —  "George!  I 
want  you  to  do  something  for  me.  I  want  you  to  con- 
sult Mr.  Raymond  about  —  about  this  matter  —  will 
you  "i " 

Sir  George  stood  rather  stiff,  and  the  placidly  obsti- 
nate look  came  to  his  mouth.  "  Mr.  Raymond  t "  he 
echoed  in  his  turn.  "Why  on  earth  should  Mr.  Ray- 
mond know  anything  about  it  —  unless  you  have  been 
speaking  to  him  .''  " 

She  had  realised  her  slip  before  the  suggestion  came, 
a  suggestion  whose  truth  she  was  too  proud  to  deny, 
even  though  her  husband's  displeasure  at  the  thought 
was  unmistakable.  "  I  /lave  spoken  to  him,"  she  replied 
steadily.  "  I  told  him  your  opinion  as  to  the  danger 
should  the  hints  in  the  native  press  prove  to  have  any 
foundation;  and  he  quite  agreed." 

"  I  feel  flattered,"  remarked  Sir  George  coldly,  as  he 
sat  down  again.  "  Perhaps,  my  dear,  when  you  are 
ready  to  go,  you  will  ring  the  bell.  Mr.  Raymond  may 
be  in  a  hurry." 

Grace  Arbuthnot's  heart  sank  within  her.  A  woman 
—  especially  a  sensible  woman  —  can  hardly  live  for  ten 
years  in  close  and  affectionate  companionship  with  a 
man  without  having  seen  him  at  his  best  and  his  worst ; 
and  that  the  latter  was  the  case  with  Sir  George  now 
his  wife  recognised  instantly ;  albeit  with  a  clear  com- 
prehension of  the  cause,  which  made  her  feel  a  pathetic 
regret  that  s/ie  should  thus  handicap  a  man,  as  a  rule  so 
just,  so  unbiassed.  And  that,  too,  at  a  moment  when 
much  might  depend  on  his  being  free  from  personal 
feeling;  since  Jack  Raymond,  she  knew,  would  not 
have  come  lightly.  Some  woman  might  have  fought 
against  facts.  Grace  was  too  wise  for  that.  She  simply 
rang  the  bell,  and  passed  into  her  own  sitting-room  with 
that  pathetic  regret.  It  seemed  so  pitiful  after  these 
long  years  to  find  antagonism  in  these  two  men ;  and 
yet  what  right  had  she  to  feel  scornful  ?     Was  it  not 


^28  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

bitterly  true  that  she  herself  could  not  forget  ?  —  not 
quite ! 

Seated  at  her  writing-table,  her  head  on  her  hand,  she 
tried  to  argue  the  matter  out  with  herself,  and  failed. 
Only  this  seemed  clear.  That  once  you  admitted  cer- 
tain emotions  to  be  inevitable,  it  was  very  hard  to  set 
limits  to  them.  Surely,  therefore,  there  must  be  a  firmer 
basis  than  the  conventional  one  ;  but  what  was  it .'' 

She  roused  herself,  after  a  time,  to  the  consideration 
that  no  matter  how  the  state  of  tension  between  her- 
self, her  husband,  and  Jack  Raymond  came  about  — 
and  that  such  a  tension  did  exist,  she  was  again  too 
proud  to  deny  —  it  must  not  be  allowed  to  interfere 
with  matters  more  important ;  and  that  it  might  do  so 
was  only  too  palpable ;  all  the  more  so  because  those 
two,  especially  her  husband,  would  be  loth  to  admit  the 
very  existence  of  such  a  possibility. 

Therefore,  she  herseM  must  see  and  talk  to  Mr. 
Raymond.  Nay,  more !  she  must  get  him  to  do  what 
her  husband  would  not  do  :  make  inquiries  concerning 
this  threat  of  publishing  some  documents  if  payment 
for  it  was  not  made,  which  was  contained  in  the  letter 
which — half  unconsciously  —  she  had  brought  away 
with  her  in  her  hand  from  the  office. 

She  passed  out  into  the  anteroom,  told  the  attendant 
orderly  that  Raymond  sahib,  on  leaving  Sir  George, 
was  not  to  be  shown  out  as  usual  by  the  office  entry, 
but  through  the  suite  of  reception-rooms,  and  then  went 
thither  herself  to  await  and  waylay  him. 

Being  seldom  used  in  the  morning,  these  rooms  lead- 
ing the  one  from  the  other  into  a  hall  beyond,  and  so  to 
the  grand  portico,  were  dim  and  silent,  the  jalousies 
closed,  the  gr&^it  Jardijiih'es,  full  of  flowers,  mysteriously 
sweet  in  the  shadowy  corners.  And  Grace  herself, 
ready  for  church  save  for  the  bunch  of  flowers  and  lace 
that  go  to  make  up  the  headgear  of  a  grande  toilette, 
looked  mysteriously  sweet  also  in  the  curves  of  a 
cushioned  chair.  She  suited  the  vista  of  rooms,  so 
empty   of   trivial   nicknacks,    so    restful   in  its  perfect 


RED  PAINT  329 

blending  of  comfort  and  beauty.  Comfort,  not  luxury, 
beauty,  not  decoration.  Cold  in  its  marble  floors,  warm 
in  its  oriental  embroideries,  and,  above  all  things,  charm- 
ing in  both  its  scented  chilliness  and  scented  warmth. 

Perhaps  she  knew  that  she  suited  it,  and  that  it  suited 
her,  since  the  hope  of  this  decides  the  disposition  of 
furniture  in  most  drawing-rooms.  Perhaps,  in  a  way, 
she  calculated  on  this,  also  on  the  effect  of  memory,  in 
reducing  Jack  Raymond  to  obedience,  since  it  was  in 
these  very  rooms,  scarcely  different  even  in  detail,  that 
the  most  part  of  those  two  happy  years  had  been  spent. 
Such  unconscious  calculations  are  quite  inevitable  when 
women  hold,  as  they  are  taught  to  hold  as  sacred,  the 
dogma  that  true  womanhood  should  never  permit  man- 
hood to  forget  that  it  is  woman. 

She  certainly  succeeded  in  this  instance,  and  her 
words  —  "Oh!  Mr.  Raymond,  I  am  so  glad.  I  want  to 
speak  to  you  so  much"  — brought  the  latter  back  into 
the  past  with  a  vengeance,  as,  inwardly  cursing  himself 
for  having  taken  the  trouble  to  come  and  warn  Sir 
George  of  something  he  thought  serious,  he  mechani- 
cally followed  the  orderly's  lead. 

She  scarcely  looked  a  day  older;  she  certainly  was 
more  beautiful.  And  surely,  the  last  time  he  had  seen 
her  in  those  rooms  alone,  there  had  been  just  such  a 
scarlet  hand  of  pointsettia  against  the  cold  marble  above 
her  head. 

"You  have  been  seeing  my  husband,"  she  began 
quite  unconsciously,  and  he  broke  in  on  the  remark 
with  a  curious  little  laugh. 

"  I  have,  Lady  Arbuthnot ;  and  I  fear  I  have  wasted 
my  time  ;  and  his.  The  former  is  of  little  consequence, 
but  the  latter  I  regret." 

As  she  so  often  did,  out  of  a  blessed  unconsciousness 
that  her  mental  position  towards  him  was  quite  unten- 
able, she  appealed  at  once  to  that  past  confidence. 

"  Don't  be  angry,  please !  I  was  afraid  there  might 
be  —  difficulties.  Sir  George,"  she  smiled  frankly, 
"was  in  a  very  bad  temper.     I  had  just"  —  she  broke 


330  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

off,  realising  that  absolute  confidence  was  impossible, 
then  went  on  — "  but  you  must  not  let  that  interfere 
with  —  with  what  you  think  advisable.  And  you  do 
think  with  me,  don't  you  ?  that  it  would  be  advisable 
to  inquire  whether  —  whether  that  unfortunate  letter 
of  mine  —  " 

Jack  Raymond,  who  had  remained  standing  in  im- 
patient hesitation  between  his  politeness  and  his  desire 
to  escape  as  soon  as  possible,  stared  at  her. 

"  What  letter  }  "  he  asked. 

She  rose  too  in  sudden  surprise,  and  they  stood  fac- 
ing each  other  against  that  background  of  white  marble 
and  scarlet  outspread  pointsettia.  "  Then  it  was  some- 
thing else,"  she  said ;  "  I  thought  it  must  be  f/i2s." 

He  took  the  letter  she  held  out,  and  read  it. 

"  It  says  nothing  definitely,"  she  went  on,  "but  —  but 
I  think  it  must  be  that ;  don't  you  ?  If  so,  what  ought 
we  to  do  ?  " 

The  "we"  struck  him  sharply,  and  he  asked,  "Have 
you  told  Sir  George  .''  " 

"  Told  him  .?  "  she  echoed,  flushing  a  little.  "  No  !  I 
wish,  now,  I  had,  at  first ;  he  —  he  would  have  faced  the 
possible  danger  by  this  time.  But  now  .'*  now  it  is  impos- 
sible, Mr.  Raymond!  I  have  thought  it  out  thoroughly. 
It  would  be  better  to  take  the  risk,  if  that  is  necessary. 
But  it  need  not  be,  if  you  will  help  me." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Why  should  you  not .-' "  Her  head  was  up,  her 
beautiful  face  full  of  a  faint  scorn,  her  clear  eyes  were 
on  his  unflinchingly. 

He  met  her  look,  as  he  always  met  a  challenge,  with 
almost  brutal  sincerity. 

"  Because  I  do  not  choose  to  —  to  stultify  the  last  ten 
years  ;  because  I  gave  up  all  that  sort  of  thing  when  — 
when  I  said  good-bye  to  you  —  here." 

"  And  you  would  let  that  stand  between  you  and  — ■ 
No  !  not  between  you  —  but  between  death  and  life  per- 
haps for  others ;  between  order  and  disorder,  anyhow. 
You  think  it  important,  I  know  —  " 


RED  PAINT  331 

"  Sir  George  does  not,"  he  interrupted. 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  You  are  as  capable  of 
judging  as  he  ;  perhaps  more  so  !  Why  should  you  be 
a  coward  ?  Why  should  you,  who  possibly  —  no  !  prob- 
ably—  know  far  more  of  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  city 
than  the  regular  officials  —  Oh,  don't  deny  it!  Have  I 
not  heard  them  say,  'Ask  Raymond'  this  or  that,  and 
'  Raymond  will  know,'  and  have  I  not  been  glad  —  so 
glad  that  everything  has  not  been  spoilt !  Why  should 
you,  I  say,  give  up  your  own  opinion  ?  For  it  comes  to 
that.  What  you  came  here  to  tell  Sir  George  to-day, 
for  instance ;  you  must  have  thought  it  important,  or 
you  would  not  have  come." 

"  I  came  because  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  acquaint 
the  authorities  with  certain  facts  that  had  been  brought 
to  mv  notice.     I  have  done  so,  and  that  ends " 

"  It  does  not  end  it !  You  and  Sir  George  disagreed, 
you  know  you  did,  as  to  its  importance  !  You  still  think 
you  are  right,  and  yet  you  yield  to  him,  why  .^ " 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  Jack  Ray- 
mond gave  a  hard  laugh.  "Why.''  I  will  tell  you  the 
truth,  Lady  Arbuthnot,  though  you  may  not  like  it  — 
though  I  acknowledge  it  is  humiliating  —  for  all  of  us  ! 
Because  I  have  had  to  yield  to  him  before.  Because  he 
hasn't  forgotten,  and  I  haven't  forgotten,  and  you  haven't 
forgotten  —  not  quite,  have  you  }  It  is  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of ;  it  is  only  natural  —  one  of  the  limitations 
of  life  —  but  there  it  is,  isn't  it.-'  " 

He  took  a  step  nearer  in  the  silence. 

"  Isn't  it .''  "  he  repeated.  "  Tell  the  truth,  Grace,  and 
shame  —  don't  let  us  say  the  devil  —  but  fate.  There,  put 
your  hand  in  mine,  and  face  our  own  —  f orgetf ulness  !  " 

She  faced  it  boldly,  even  though  he  felt  her  hand 
tremble  in  his.  "  Did  I  ever  deny  it .?  "  she  said  softh'-, 
with  tears  in  her  voice  ;  "  I  do  not,  I  cajinot  forget  quite. 
It  is  pitiful,  of  course  ;  but  why  — }  " 

"  Don't !  "  he  interrupted  quickly.  "  Don't,  my  dear 
lady  !  You  will  only  make  me  remember  more  ;  that  is 
the  truth.     As  you  say,  it  is  pitiful ;  but  there  it  is." 


332  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

She  stood  looking  at  him  with  a  world  of  regret,  some 
anger,  and  a  little,  a  very  little  scorn. 

"And  you  will  let  this  interfere  with  —  with  every- 
thing." 

"Not  with -everything,  but  with  this,  certainly,"  he 
pointed  to  the  letter  which  he  had  laid  on  the  console 
below  the  pointsettias.  "  And  that  is  all  the  easier  to 
do,  because  I  don't  believe  in  it — quite.  But  if  I  were 
you,  I  should  tell  Sir  George  the  truth  and  let  him  de- 
cide. As  for  the  other  matter  about  which  I  came  to 
speak,  he  may  be  right,  and  I  wrong.     Time  will  show." 

"  It  may,  disastrously,  to  many  —  to  India  —  even  to 
Empire  !  "  —  the  scorn  came  uppermost  now. 

"  Surely,"  he  replied,  reverting  to  his  usual  manner, 
"the  Empire  can  take  care  of  itself.  If  not,  Lady 
Arbuthnot,  I  am  afraid  it  must  do  without  my  help  — 
in  Nushapore.     Good-bye." 

The  qualification  held  all  his  previous  arguments  in  it, 
and  re-aroused  his  own  bitterness  at  his  own  memories, 
so  that  as  he  walked  on  down  the  long  vista  of  rooms, 
he  felt  each  well-remembered  bit  of  it  to  be  a  fresh 
injury;  and  his  impatience,  his  obstinacy  grew  at  each 
step.  Why  had  not  Grace  the  sense  to  believe,  once  for 
all,  as  he  had  told  her  at  the  very  first,  that  hers  was 
not  the  hand  to  wile  his  back  to  the  plough  "> 

Her  hand !  Ye  Gods  !  And  he  could  feel  its  touch 
now  on  his.  That  woman's  touch  so  full  of  possibilities, 
so  full  of  power. 

"  Mr.  Waymond  !  Oh,  Mr.  Waymond  !  Do  please 
don't  go  away !  "  came  Jerry's  voice  from  a  side  room 
used  as  a  schoolroom  which  opened  out  from  the  hall. 
"  Oh,  please  do  come  and  help  me  wif  this.  I'm  'fwaid 
I  don't  know  somefing  I  ought  to  know." 

It  never  needed  much  of  Jerry's  voice  to  cajole  any 
one ;  so  the  next  moment,  temper  or  no  temper.  Jack 
Raymond  was  bending  over  the  little  figure  which, 
perched  on  a  high  chair  at  the  table,  was  busy  over  a 
map  of  India. 

"  Hullo,  young  man  !  "  he  said.     "  Lessons  .'*  " 


RED  PAINT  333 

Jerry  looked  at  him  in  shocked  surprise.  "Why, 
it's  Sunday!  And  I've  learned  my  hymn  —  'bout  babes 
an'  sucklings  an'  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  don't 
you  know.  An'  I'm  not  'ilowed  to  go  to  church  'cos 
mum  says  I'm  not  normal  yet;  don't  you  fink,  Mr. 
Waymond,  it's  just  orful  dull  of  people  always  twying 
to  be  just  the  same  ?  I  like  it  when  mum  says  I'm 
feverish.  I  dweam  dweams.  Las'  night  I  dweamt 
there  was  a  weal  wow,  an'  dad  made  me  his  galloper, 
an'  I  had  secwet  dispatches.  Oh !  it  was  just  wippin', 
I  tell  you.  I  think  secwet  dispatches  is  —  is  the  loveli- 
est game  !  'Cos  it's  —  it's  all  your  own,  you  know,  and 
nobody,  nobody  else  mustn't  have  them,  or  know,  not 
even  mum.  And  you  keep  'em  quite,  quite  secwet,  an' 
you  don't  even  know  what's  inside  yourself ;  do  you .'' 
Not  if  you  play  it  ever,  ever  so  long  as  I  do.  And  I 
did  it  once  too,  you  know,  weally ;  at  least  I  fink  I  did, 
though  they  say  I  didn't." 

The  child's  eyes  were  still  over  bright,  his  cheeks 
flushed  with  the  last  touches  of  the  sun  fever  which 
comes  and  goes  so  easily  with  English  children  in 
India ;  and  Jack  Raymond  smiled  softly  at  the  little 
lad  who  reminded  him  so  much  of  his  own  boyhood, 
even  though  the  remembrance,  at  that  particular  mo- 
ment, brought  a  fresh  bitterness  towards  the  woman  he 
had  just  left  —  the  woman  who  would  have  liked,  as  it 
were,  to  eat  her  cake  and  have  it. 

"  And  what  are  you  up  to  now  V  he  asked,  seating 
himself  on  the  table  and  looking  down  at  what  lay  on  it 
—  the  outspread  map,  a  paint-box,  and  a  crimson-stained 
tumbler  of  water  —  "  spoiling  the  map  of  India  ;  eh  }  " 

"  I  ain't  spoiling  it,"  retorted  Jerry  indignantly,  "  I'm 
only  paintin'  it  wedder.      Mum  said  I  might." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  though,  young  man!  You'll 
spoil  yourself  if  you  suck  your  paint-brush." 

It  came  out  of  Jerry's  mouth  with  the  usual  crimson 
flag  of  contrition  all  over  his  cheeks.  "  It's  orful  hard 
to  wemember  when  one  is  finking  —  finking  of  nothin' 
but  the  wed,  and  yet  twyin'  to  play  fair," 


334  VOICES  IN   THE   NIGHT 

"  Play  fair  ?  "  echoed  Jack  Raymond.  "What  game 
are  you  playing  now,  Jerry  ?  " 

"  Oh !  it  isn't  a  game ;  it's  weal.  Only,  I  mean  the 
tiddly  little  bits" — Jerry,  his  tongue  in  his  cheek,  was 
laboriously  at  work  again  on  Rajputana  with  a  brush  so 
surcharged  with  carmine  that  it  left  perfect  bloodstains 
on  the  general  tint  of  pale  yellow  —  "I  don't  want,  in 
course,  to  take  more'n  belongs  to  the  Queen,  but  they 
mustn't  have  the  teeniest  bit  of  what  belongs  to  us, 
must  they,  Mr.  Waymond  .'*  " 

"  I  see,"  repHed  the  man  slowly.  "You  are  painting 
the  town  red  for  Her  Majesty- — I  mean  the  map. — 
Isn't  it  red  enough  as  it  is,  Jerry } " 

The  child  in  his  excitement  put  down  his  paint-brush 
in  the  middle  of  Bengal  as  a  safe  spot.  "  Not  half  wed 
enough !  An'  besides !  there's  mistakes  an'  mistakes, 
an'  the  yellow  an'  gween  run  over  the  line.  I  don't 
mind  the  yellow  so  much,  'cos  we  only  alloiv  them  to  be 
that  colour ;  but  it's  dweadful  with  gween !  An'  then 
there's  some  orful  fings.  You  see  that  spot "  —  he 
pointed  triumphantly  to  an  almost  invisible  speck  of 
red  like  a  midge  bite  —  "I  made  that !  It  wasn't  there. 
Mum  said  the  map  people  fought  it  was  too  small  to  put 
in,  but  it's  got  to  be,  you  see ;  so  when  I  give  the  map 
to  Budlu  —  Budlu's  got  a  little  grandson  older  nor  me 
at  school  who  learns  maps,  and  mum  said  I  might  give 
him  this  one  —  I'll  tell  him  it  isn't  quite  the  wight  size. 
But  it  may  be,  some  time,  you  know.  Perhaps  when  I 
gwow  up  it  will  be."  The  clear  bright  eyes  grew  dreamy, 
as  Jerry,  with  conscientious  care,  skirted  around  the 
possessions  of  an  extremely  minor  chieftain. 

"  Perhaps  !  "  echoed  the  man  still  more  slowly.  "  And 
I  expect  you'd  like  to  make  it  bigger,  wouldn't  you  .'* " 

"Wather!  I  should  think  I  just  would!  Like  as 
mum  says  her  gweat-gweat-gwandf ather-people  —  an' 
yours  too,  she  said,  Mr.  Waymond  —  did.  Just  like 
Clive,  yovi  know,  an'  all  the  people  that  people 
wemember." 

The  man's  face  was  very  close  to  the  child's  now,  as 


RED  PAINT  335 

resting  his  elbows  on  the  table,  he  watched  the  crimson 
brush. 

"  What  a  Jingo  you  are,  Jerry  !  And  if  any  one  were 
to  try- — to  try  and  make  a  really  red  bit  yellow,  for 
instance  —  or  even  pale  pink  —  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

Jerry  went  on  with  his  task  laboriously.  "  I  wouldn't 
let  'em,  in  course.  I'd  take  away  their  tumblers,  an' 
their  paint-brushes,  an'  everything,  till  they  hadn't  no 
excuse ;  an'  then,  if  they  was  bad  still,  I'd  whack  'em  !  " 

Jack  Raymond  rose  to  go.  "  A  very  sound  theory  of 
Government,  young  man,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  had  an 
odd  ring  in  it,  "  especially  the  whacking.  It's  a  pity 
you're  not  grown-up  now,  Jerry  —  why  aren't  you  ?  " 

Jerry  looked  up  with  the  child's  sudden  consciousness 
of  a  joke,  and  smiled  at  his  friend  roguishly. 

"  Why  .''  'Cos, you  are,  in  course  !  When  you're  dead, 
I'll  do  it.  It's  your  turn  now !  Oh,  don't  go,  please ! 
you  haven't  told  me  yet  —  " 

"What.''  "  asked  Jack  Raymond,  pausing  with  a  still 
odder  look  on  his  face. 

Jerry's  finger  travelled  carefully  down  to  Pondicherry. 
"That!"  he  said.  "They  say  it  is  Fwench,  an'  it's 
beastly ;  but  when  I  looked  in  the  atlas  for  Fwance 
colour,  it  was  all  sorts  —  gweens,  and  blues,  and  yellows, 
and  weds,  all  mixed  up.  So,  please  !  wouldn't  it  be  fair 
to  make  it  wed  too  .-*  I  couldn't  help  what  it  looks  like, 
could  I,  if  I  didn't  mean  cheating .-'  " 

"  My  dear  little  chap  !  "  replied  Jack  Raymond,  "  if  I 
were  you,  I'd  paint  every  blessed  bit  of  it  bright  scarlet !  " 
And  then  suddenly,  much  to  Jerry's  surprise,  he  stooped 
and  kissed  the  child's  puzzled  yet  open  forehead. 

"  Oh  fank  you  !  "  said  Jerry  politely.  "  Mum  kisses 
me  like  that  sometimes,  and  dad  too.     I  —  I  like  it." 


CHAPTER   XXII 


THE    BETTER    PART 


When  Jack  Raymond  left  Jerry  painting  the  map  red, 
he  was  in  that  curiously  ill-used  frame  of  mind  which 
comes  to  most  of  us,  when  a  good  action — which  we 
have  steadily  refused  to  do  —  becomes  imperative,  and 
ceases  therefore  to  have  any  virtue  save  the  virtue  of 
necessity ;  when,  briefly,  we  have  neither  eaten  our  cake 
nor  have  it.  He  knew  perfectly  well  that  sooner  or 
later  that  day  —  the  later  the  better  to  his  ill-humour  — 
he  would  go  down  to  the  city,  make  inquiries  concern- 
ing that  letter,  pay  for  its  possession  —  here  the  remem- 
brance of  those  bank-notes,  ready  for  use  even  on  a 
Sunday,  in  his  pocket-book,  came  to  make  him  swear 
inwardly  at  a  coincidence  that  was  too  much  like  fate 
for  freedom  —  if  needful,  and  then  send  it  to  Lady 
Arbuthnot,  he  supposed,  with  a  polite  little  note ! 

And  all  because  a  boy  who  reminded  him  of  his  own 
boyhood,  had  made  him  feel  that  no  other  course  was 
open  to  him  —  that  he  was  bound  to  do  this  thing  —  or 
shoot  himself  for  not  doing  it ! 

The  church  bells  had  just  finished  chiming  as,  on  his 
way  to  the  club,  he  walked  down  the  Mall ;  for  the  main 
entrance  to  Government  House  gave  on  it,  and  not  on 
the  Garden  Mound.  In  his  present  evil  temper  even 
this  triviality  annoyed  him.  Why,  in  heaven's  name, 
could  not  Lady  Arbuthnot  have  let  him  go  as  he  had 
come .''  go  back  to  his  own  life  .-'  —  to  the  philosophic 
peace  which  had  been  so  pleasant !     And  now  — 

What  cursed  nonsense  it  was  for  him  to  put  himself 
within  the  reach  of  disturbing  elements  !  —  for  they  were 
disturbing.     If  it  could  even  be  of  any  real  use  to  her 

336 


THE  BETTER  PART  337 

—  here  something  in  his  own  thought  of  her,  so  beauti- 
ful, so  good,  made  him  realise  his  position  in  regard  to 
her  still  more  clearly.  No !  despite  his  respect,  and  her 
goodness,  it  would  not  take  much  to  make  him  passion- 
ately in  love  with  her  again.     And  would  she  — .-' 

That  was  another  question ;  but  she  had  not  for- 
gotten ! 

As  he  told  himself  this,  she  and  Lesley  Drummond 
came  by  in  the  Government  House  carriage,  and  he 
paused  to  let  it  turn  in  to  the  church  compound. 

"We  are  dreadfully  late,  I'm  afraid,"  called  the  former 
concernedly.     "  Are  you  coming }  " 

Was  he  coming }  And  she  could  fret  herself  over 
being  two  minutes  late  !  Good  women  were  really  quite 
incomprehensible,  especially  in  India,  where  they  did 
so  little  to  deserve  the  name.  The  hundred  or  so,  for 
instance,  in  church  at  that  present  moment  —  did  they 
do  an  atom  more  —  no !  not  half  so  much  as  he  did  — 
for  the  good  of  the  world  around  them,  or  the  Empire  — 
except  perhaps  in  supplying  it  with  sons !  Yet  there 
they  would  be,  quite  satisfied  with  themselves.  The 
thought  attracted  him.  He  was  in  no  hurry  himself  to 
do  the  thing  he  knew  he  must  do  —  in  fact,  any  delay 
was  welcome  —  so  he  turned  into  the  church  compound 
also,  and  stood  decorously  at  the  door  till  the  Absolu- 
tion, which  was  being  given,  was  over,  before  slipping 
into  the  nearest  seat,  next  to  a  very  stout  old  lady  whose 
only  claim  to  be  considered  even  a  Eurasian  was  her 
bonnet.  But  as  he  had  stood  for  those  brief  moments 
looking  over  the  heads  of  the  bowed  congregation,  he 
had  noticed,  with  a  sense  of  the  humour  of  the  thing, 
that  the  percentage  of  dark  blood  in  the  worshippers 
could  be  very  fairly  gauged  by  their  distance  from  the 
white  robes  of  the  choir  boys  !  The  good  lady  beside 
him,  however,  ended  the  scale  of  colour,  for  the  native 
Christian,  piir  et  simple,  was,  of  course,  absorbed  by  the 
Mission  churches. 

And  the  non-Christian  native  .-'  There  was  no  sign  of 
him  either.     No  sound  of  him,  no  thought  even  of  him 


338  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

from  beginning  to  end !  Jack  Raymond  stood  up 
decorously,  and  sat  down  decorously,  knelt  decorously, 
and  listened  decorously,  with  a  sense  of  unreality,  a 
sense  of  dislocation  from  his  surroundings,  that  was  not 
much  less  keen  than  Chris  Davenant's  had  been  when 
he  listened  to  the  "  Society  for  the  General  Good  of 
Peoples  "  at  Hafiz  Ahmad's  house.  The  sermon  —  a 
good  one  in  its  way  —  might  have  been  preached  in  a 
London  suburb,  save  for  this,  that  beyond  a  Httle  per- 
functory solacing  of  Eurasian  paupers,  there  was  none 
of  the  active  attempt  to  carry  words  into  deeds  which 
would  have  existed  in  the  listeners  of  a  suburban  con- 
gregation. Absolutely,  utterly,  none.  Not  one  woman 
there  knew  as  much  as  he,  the  idler,  of  the  hard  poverty- 
stricken  lives  of  the  people.  Yet  these  very  women, 
when  they  went  home,  would  feel  themselves  accursed 
as  worldlings  if  they  did  not  district-visit  or  join  the 
Charity  Organisation  ! 

These  considerations  did  not  improve  one  listener's 
temper.  On  the  contrary,  they  increased  his  desire  for 
delay ;  for,  having  already  warned  Sir  George  that,  in 
his  opinion,  the  city  was  more  unstable  than  authority 
seemed  to  think,  he  washed  his  hands  of  that  responsi- 
bility. All  he  had  to  do,  therefore,  was  to  get  and  pay 
for  this  paper,  if  needful,  and  so  prevent  its  being  made 
use  of  against  the  Government  —  prevent  its  being  a 
worry  to  —  to  Jerry's  mother  ! 

He  therefore  had  lunch  and  a  cigar  quietly.  It  was, 
in  fact,  close  on  four  o'clock  when  he  started,  riding, 
for  the  city.  But  at  the  nearest  gate  to  the  bazaar, 
whence  the  threat  of  using  the  information  had  ema- 
nated, he  gave  his  pony  to  the  sais,  bidding  him  go 
home  ;  since  he  knew  by  experience  the  attention  which 
a  European  on  horseback  excites  in  a  native  city,  and 
without  in  the  least  wishing  for  concealment,  he  had  no 
desire  to  be  followed  by  gossip-mongers.  The  gate  in 
question  was  that  giving  on  the  poor  Hindoo  quarter, 
the  glass-bangle  makers,  the  poultry  keepers,  the  burden 
carriers,  and  —  in  a  sort  of  off-shoot  half-in,  half-out  of 


THE  BETTER  PART  339 

the  city  —  the  leather  workers.  That  curious  class, 
apart  from  all  caste  and  creed,  yet  necessary  to  all,  and 
from  their  ignorance,  their  isolation,  the  most  difficult  to 
civilise. 

So  far  Jack  Raymond,  personally,  had  seen  and 
heard  nothing  beyond  Aunt  Khojee's  tale,  as  reported 
by  Lateefa,  to  give  grounds  for  more  than  caution ;  but 
he  had  not  gone  a  dozen  yards  down  the  miserable 
bazaar  which  served  the  neighbourhood,  before  he 
realised  that  action  might  be  necessary.  Most  of  the 
shops  were  shut,  and  scarcely  a  human  being  was  to  be 
seen  ;  signs  —  in  upside-down  Eastern  fashion — that  the 
peace  of  the  people  was  disturbed.  And  it  might  mean 
more.  These  signs,  to  be  seen  of  all,  might  have  been 
duly  reported  to  the  proper  authorities  and  been  dis- 
regarded by  them.  But  if  they  had  not  been  so  reported, 
there  could,  considering  the  perfection  of  organisation 
for  such  reports  which  exists  in  every  native  town,  be  but 
one  explanation  of  the  fact  —  treachery!  He  would 
find  out  about  this,  he  told  himself,  merely  for  his  own 
satisfaction,  on  his  way  back,  since  the  minor  treachery 
of  police  constables  and  such  like  had  its  price,  and  he 
had  five  thousand  rupees  in  his  pocket  towards  a  good 
deed  !     It  would  be  curious  if,  after  all  — 

The  thought  of  Lesley  made  him  smile  good-hu- 
mouredly.  What  with  the  ram  nicki  and  the  green 
sleeves,  and  now  this  possible  good  deed,  it  was  hope- 
less to  escape  that  young  person.  He  walked  on  more 
cheerfully,  and  in  a  few  minutes  found  himself  in  the 
courtyard  of  Dilaram's  house  on  his  way  to  Govind's 
den  on  the  second  story ;  since  his,  as  yet  unknown, 
quarry  had  given  that  address.  The  whole  house,  how- 
ever, was  so  still,  so  deserted,  that  he  half  feared  his 
journey  might  be  in  vain.  But  it  was  not  so.  The 
door,  marked  24  in  rough  white  letterings,  was  ajar, 
and  Govind,  yawning,  dishevelled,  rose  from  a  corner 
with  an  apology  of  a  salaavt  as  his  visitor  entered. 
The  room  was  almost  empty.  Even  the  printing-press 
had  disappeared,  gone,  like  all  else,  in  the  attempt  to 


340  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

live  upon  lies ;  for,  even  with  Govind's  nose  for  nasti- 
ness,  he  had  been  driven  to  sell  the  goodwill,  stock,  and 
block  of  the  "  Ear  of  the  Wise  "  to  another  unwise  aspir- 
ant towards  literary  fame.  His  last  issue  had  been  the 
one  detailing  the  horrors  of  Sobrai's  disgrace  and  Noor- 
mahal's  death ;  to  the  unusual  success  of  which,  espe- 
cially among  the  Mohammedan  soldiers  in  cantonments, 
had  been  due  the  unexpected  offer  to  buy  the  going 
concern.  The  would-be  purchaser  being  a  new  discon- 
tent, who,  having  been  turned  out  of  a  regimental  office 
for  falsifying  returns,  was  keen  on  revenging  himself 
by  spreading  disaffection  in  the  native  army.  Govind 
had  naturally  jumped  at  the  offer,  and  for  two  days 
past  had  been  debauching  himself  on  the  proceeds,  in 
certain  anticipation  of  more  money  to  come  from  the 
sale  of  something  which  could  no  longer  be  used  as 
copy ;  for,  he  told  himself,  even  if  his  first  bold  bid 
for  a  buyer  produced  no  results,  almost  every  native 
newspaper  in  Nushapore  would  be  glad  of  anything 
which  might  help  to  damage  —  when  the  proper  time 
came  —  the  good  faith  of  their  rulers. 

But  now,  as  the  figure  of  a  sahib  showed  at  the  door, 
his  bhang-dwWedi  eyes  lit  up  with  triumph ;  the  next 
moment,  however,  he  was  murmuring  a  humble  "  GJiarib- 
iia-zvds"  and  wishing  that  the  earth  would  open  and 
swallow  him  —  wishing  he  had  never  sent  the  letter ! 
But  who  could  have  dreamt  of  its  being  answered  by 
RaJimdn-saJiib  ! 

"  Oh !  it  is  you,  is  it  .-*  "  remarked  Jack  Raymond, 
recognising  an  old  club  baboo  whom  he  had  run  in 
for  theft  of  cigars.  "  You  are  Govind  Ram,  editor, 
are  you .''  That  simplifies  matters.  I  suppose  you 
wrote  this,  and  that  the  talk  of  knowing  a  man  who 
knows,  etc.,  is  the  usual  business.  You  have  a  paper 
—  you  want  five  thousand  rupees  for  it  —  just  like  your 
cheek  !     You'll  get  two.     Hand  it  over." 

He  made  the  offer  advisedly;  for  he 'knew  the  man 
to  have  friends  in  the  Secretariat ;  knew,  briefly,  that 
he  was  a  likely  man  to  have  got  hold  —  if  not  of  the 


THE  BETTER  PART  34 1 

lost  letter,  yet  of  something  confidential.  To  haggle 
with  him,  therefore,  was  mere  waste  of  time ;  more  es- 
pecially as  he  himself  had  long  since  ceased  to  regard 
the  five  thousand  rupees  he  carried  about  with  him  as 
his  own  money.  So  it  might  as  well  go  —  in  a  good 
action  !  —  and  save  him  bother. 

It  did.  Govind,  who  at  most  had  expected  five  hun- 
dred, lost  no  time  in  producing  the  paper. 

Jack  Raymond  looked  at  it,  then  at  Govind. 

"You  d — d  fool,"  he  said  softly,  "I  don't  think 
you'll  find  it  worth  while." 

Then  he  looked  at  the  crumpled  document  again. 
It  was  merely  a  precis  as  it  were,  written  in  a  clerkly 
hand,  of  what  the  rescinded  confidential  instructions 
might  have  been,  such  as  any  one  who  by  chance  had 
seen  them  —  or  any  scoundrel  who  had  not  —  could 
easily  have  written.  Absolutely  unauthentic,  and  of 
no  possible  value,  as  proof  of  anything. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Jack  Raymond  that  the  idea 
of  taking  back  the  notes  which  he  had  given  Govind, 
as  had  been  stipulated  in  advance,  never  occurred  to 
him.  He  was  a  backer  of  odds,  a  better  of  bets.  He 
had  staked  money  lightly,  and  lost  it.  So  far  good ; 
but  he  meant  to  have  his  money's  worth. 

"  Hold  up,  you  brute  !  "  he  said,  as  Govind  writhed 
at  the  first  touch  on  the  scruff  of  his  neck.  "  I  won't 
kill  you,  but  you  shall  have  the  soundest  licking  you 
ever  had  in  your  life." 

As  he  spoke  the  lash  of  the  hunting-whip,  with 
which  he  always  rode,  curled  round  Govind's  thin  legs, 
making  their  owner  in  his  sheer  animal  terror  escape 
from  Jack  Raymond's  hold — -strong  as  it  was  —  to  the 
floor,  where  he  lay  on  his  back,  his  limbs  crunched 
together  like  a  dead  crab's  —  a  hideous  spectacle.  So 
hideous  that  the  very  licking  of  such  an  abject  beast 
seemed  impossible. 

"  Huzoor,  no  !  "  he  gasped.  "  No,  Hiizoor  !  not  that ! 
not  that!  I  will  pay  it  back!  I  will  pay — I  will 
pay  —  " 


342  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"  Get  up,  you  brute,  and  take  it  decently,"  interrupted 
Jack,  feeling  more  decidedly  that  if  the  brute  would 
not,  he  would  have  to  give  up  the  sickening  business. 
He  emphasised  his  command  by  another  flick  with  the 
thong. 

The  crumpled  crablike  terror  gave  a  sort  of  sob, 
and  edged  itself  —  still  on  its  back  —  till  it  could  kiss 
Jack  Raymond's  boots  frantically.  "  Not  that !  not 
that!"  it  moaned.  "I  will  pay  —  yea!  I  can  pay!" 
Then  in  a  purely  insane  fear  of  physical  pain,  Govind's 
English  came  back  to  him  —  "  O  my  lord  god  almighty, 
I  can  give  money's  worth — I  can  give  cheap  —  O  lord 
god,  yes!  I  can  tell  —  listen,  listen!"  So,  without  a 
pause,  he  burst  out  into  words  which  first  made  Jack 
Raymond  hesitate,  and  then  —  catching  the  lash  of  the 
whip  back  into  his  hand  —  point  to  the  corner  and  say, 
"  Sit  down  there,  you  skunk,  and  tell  the  truth  ;  don't 
try  to  escape,  or  I  really  zut//  do  for  you." 

The  tale  which  came  from  between  Govind's  chatter- 
ing teeth  made  the  listener  set  his.  Here  was  confirma- 
tion of  old  Khojee's  story  with  a  vengeance  ;  explanation 
also  of  the  closed  shops,  the  empty  alleys.  And  the 
explanation  was  so  natural.  Given  an  amulet  which 
brought  death  by  the  visitation  of  God  at  once,  or,  in 
lieu  of  that,  death  by  removal  to  hospital  and  subsequent 
poisoning,  what  more  obvious  palliative  —  since  God's 
act  must  stand  —  than  to  strike  at  the  works  of  the 
devil .''  If,  by  dawn,  neither  hospitals  nor  doctors 
remained,  that  would  surely  mend  matters.  Mean- 
while, in  every  house  to  which  the  cursed  charm  had 
gone,  there  must  be  purification  by  prayer  and  fasting, 
by  spells,  and  incantations,  and  burnings  of  the  hateful 
thing. 

It  did  not  need  much  imagination  to  picture  the 
scene.  A  narrow  court,  a  dead  child  or  husband  await- 
ing dusk  for  secret  removal,  shuddering  excited  women, 
hysterical  from  lack  of  food,  listening  to  the  denuncia- 
tions of  officiating  priests  and  vinllaJis,  looking  at  their 
dead,  at  their  living  —  round  whose  wrists  the  amulet 


THE  BETTER  PART  343 

had  been  perhaps  an  hour  before — and  remembering 
that  though  half  the  evil  in  the  future  lay  with  God, 
Who  was  beyond  coercion,  the  other  half  lay  with  men 
who  were ! 

Not  a  reassuring  scene  in  a  city  whose  two  hundred 
and  odd  thousand  inhabitants  were  curiously  unreliable. 

Still  less  so,  because,  if  those  immediately  responsible 
had  been  true  to  their  salt,  all  this  information  would 
have  been  in  the  strong  hands  of  authorities  hours 
ago. 

That  it  had  not  been  so  when  he  left  the  club.  Jack 
Raymond  felt  sure.  Why  !  he  had  seen  the  city  magis- 
trate there  reading  the  Illnstj-ated  Loudon  Nezus  ! 

"Who  is  in  it.''  Who  is  working  it.''  Come,  hurry 
up  !  "  he  asked,  with  a  significant  dropping  of  the  whip- 
lash. 

Govind  squirmed  horribly,  but  protested  ignorance. 
It  was  not  that  sort  of  trouble.  No  one  had  thought 
of  it  twenty-four  hours  ago,  in  spite  of  all  the  talk,  all 
the  misfortunes,  in  spite  even  of  the  conspirings.  It  had 
come  of  itself. 

That  was  true,  the  listener  knew.  This  sort  of  thing 
always  did ;  but  there  were  always  people  to  help  it  on, 
and  every  hour  that  had  been  lost  had  increased  the 
aiders  and  abettors.  By  now,  half  the  city  might  be 
implicated. 

He  took  out  another  thousand-rupee  note  and  held 
it  out. 

"  Take  me  to  the  most  likely  scoundrel,"  he  said 
briefly.     "  You  understand  }  " 

Govind  understood  perfectly,  and  from  abject  terror 
passed  to  such  infernal,  such  jubilant  betrayal,  that 
Jack  Raymond  put  his  hands  and  his  whip  behind  his 
back  in  fear  of  using  them.  For  he  was  going  to  see 
this  thing  through.  He  had  still  two  thousand-rupee 
notes  in  his  betting-book,  and  that  in  a  native  city  meant 
much ;  the  only  caution  necessary  being  not  to  bribe 
the  wrong  person. 

He  passed  out  into  the  bazaar  with  Govind,  feeling 


344  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

a  curious  sense  of  power,  a  vast  antagonism.  He  would 
be  wise,  he  felt,  to  assure  himself  absolutely  as  to  the 
trend  any  disturbance  would  take  before  going  with  his 
information  to  those  who  could  checkmate  it ;  for,  he 
thought  rapidly,  a  few  companies  of  the  native  soldiers 
who  were  at  hand  could  easily  stave  off  action  until 
proper  arrangements  could  be  made. 

"  It  is  among  the  railway  people.  Protector  of  the 
Poor,"  said  Govind  fulsomely — he  had  reverted  abso- 
lutely to  Hindustani,  its  ways  and  works — "that  there 
is  most  turbulence.  For  the  reason  that  there  is  a  baboo 
in  charge  of  works,  so  there  is  little  fear  among  them. 
Then  the  Bengalis  —  they  have  a  dispensary  of  their 
own,  with  a  saint  who  works  miracles  ;  so  they  —  " 

"  Chuprao  !  "  interrupted  Jack  Raymond  sternly,  "  and 
remember,  if  you  try  and  throw  dust  in  my  eyes,  I'll  kill 
you !  " 

Yet,  half  an  hour  afterwards,  he  felt  that  he  was  no 
nearer  a  clear  conception  of  what  sort  of  solid  backing 
these  vague  threats  of  violence  had,  than  at  the  begin- 
ning. Every  one  was  only  too  glad  —  for  sums  varying 
from  ten  to  a  hundred  rupees  —  to  tell  what  they  knew, 
and  what  is  more,  to  pass  the  tale-telling  on;  but  the 
result  was  not  worth  the  wasted  time. 

He  had  told  himself  this  should  be  his  last  trial,  that 
time  failed  for  more,  when  a  pure  accident  put  him  in 
possession  of  certainty.  He  was  coming  down  an  almost 
pitch-dark  tenement  stair  some  little  way  behind  Govind, 
when  a  door  at  the  turn  below  opened  and  a  man  came 
out. 

"  Lo  !  Govind  !  is't  thou  .-'  Well  met !  "  said  the  new- 
comer in  a  low  voice,  looking  no  further  than  the  figure 
close  to  him,  seen  in  the  light  from  the  door.  "  Be 
ready  for  midnight.  'Tis  to  be  the  Geiicrali-Jiospitarl 
first  —  all  is  arranged.     I  have  a  letter  here  —  " 

He  was  passing  on  downwards,  but  got  no  further  in 
speech  or  step,  for  Govind  —  impelled  by  a  kick  from 
behind  —  fell  on  him  like  an  avalanche,  and  the  next 
moment  Jack  Raymond  was  beside  the  heap. 


THE  BETTER  PART  345 

"The  letter,"  he  said  simply,  "give  me  the  letter!" 

He  had  a  brief  struggle  for  it,  since  this  scoundrel 
had  grit,  till  the  butt  end  of  the  whip  came  in  savagely 
handy.  By  that  time  Govind  had  disappeared,  rather 
to  Jack  Raymond's  relief ;  so,  leaving  the  owner  of  the 
letter  stunned,  he  ran  downstairs  and  put  an  alley  or 
two  between  him  and  the  scene  of  the  swift  scuffle, 
before  looking  at  his  prize ;  since.  Englishman  as  he 
was,  that  was  no  quarter  of  the  city  in  which  to  begin 
violence. 

The  letter,  which  was,  of  course,  in  the  vernacular, 
was  fairly  lengthy,  but  he  saw  enough  on  the  first  page 
to  make  him  turn  to  the  end,  then  with  a  hurried  excla- 
mation take  out  his  watch. 

A  quarter  to  six !  The  next  moment  he  was  off  as 
quick  as  he  dared  for  Government  House.  He  chose 
the  gate  giving  on  the  Garden  Mound  as  his  exit  from 
the  city,  since  once  there,  he  could  run  without  fear  of 
being  stopped  as  a  lunatic  or  a  thief,  and  another  refer- 
ence to  his  watch,  following  on  a  sv/ift  calculation, 
warned   him    he  had  not  much  time  to  spare. 

Being  Sunday,  there  were  no  orderlies  in  waiting  at 
the  office  entrance,  and,  knowing  his  way  and  the  way  of 
the  place,  he  did  not  pause  to  call  one,  but  passed  on 
through  the  house  to  the  entrance-hall,  where  some  one 
was  certain  to  be  found. 

He  was  right ;  but  the  person  was  not  the  one  he  ex- 
pected. It  was  Lesley  Drummond,  ready  in  short  skirt 
for  a  bicycle  ride. 

"Sir  George  !  "  he  said  sharply.  "  I  must  see  him  at 
once !  " 

She  stared  at  his  hurry,  his  breathlessness.  "  Sir 
George  !  "  she  echoed.  "  He  is  not  in.  He  has  gone 
to  lay  the  foundation-stone  of  the  College  —  every  one 
has  gone.  I  only  stopped  because  of  Jerry  not  being 
quite  well." 

She  paused,  startled,  for  Jack  Raymond  literally  threw 
up  his  hands  in  impotent  anger.  Fool  that  he  had  been 
to  forget !     Of  course  !     Everybody  who  could  be  of  any 


346  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

use  whatever,  in  this  emergency,  would  be  spouting  rot 
five  miles  away  on  the  other  side  of  the  city  !  If  he  had 
only  thought  of  it  before,  and  gone  there  instead  of  here: 
There  might  have  been  time,  then,  to  arrange  the  only 
plan  which  was  in  the  least  likely  —  and  now  — 

"  What  is  it,  Mr.  Raymond  ? "  came  Lesley's  voice. 
"  Let  me  help  if  I  can." 

He  shook  his  head.  "Nobody  can — even  I  can't, 
though  I  know  it's  the  only  thing  —  that  it  ought  to  be 
done  at  once  —  that"  —  he  broke  off  with  an  impatient 
gesture  —  "  It's  no  use  —  it  can't  be  helped  !  " 

Lesley  came  a  step  nearer  to  him,  with  an  odd  look  of 
resolve  on  her  face. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  it  would  be  wrong  of  you  to  do  it, 
or  that  you  haven't  the  right .''  I  mean,  is  it  something 
you  could  do  if  —  if  you  were  Sir  George .''  " 

The  quickness  of  her  perception  made  him  say 
"Yes!"  frankly. 

"Would  Sir  George  do  it  if  he  were  here.-*"  followed 
sharply. 

He  gave  another  gesture  of  impatience.  "  Don't  let 
us  play  clumps,  for  Heaven's  sake ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  I'll  tell  you  —  though  it's  no  good.  There  is  a  row  on 
in  the  city  to-night  —  the  native  regiment  is  in  it — I 
have  a  letter  here  —  or  at  any  rate  they  won't  be  much 
help ;  and  if  once  we  get  fighting  in  the  streets  — " 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders  —  "the  only  way  is  to  pre- 
vent it  starting.  And  Moradki  is  beyond  call.  But 
there's  a  wing  of  the  Highlanders  at  Fareedabad,  forty 
miles  down  the  line.  If  I  could  have  got  a  wire  sent 
there  before  the  mail  passes  —  the  up-mail  which  left 
here  a  little  ago  —  it  could  have  been  stopped  and  sent 
back  with  troops.  For  Fareedabad  is  only  an  out- 
post —  no  railway  stock  —  so  there  is  only  that  one 
chance  before  midnight.  There  would  have  been  time 
then  —  but  now  —  " 

"  Then  why  don't  you  send  one  .-'  " 

"  I .? " 

"  Yes,  you  !  You  know  the  cipher.  You  know  that 
Sir  George  would  send  it." 


THE  BETTER  PART  347 

"  Pardon  me  !  "  he  said,  recovering  his  breath,  recover- 
ing his  obstinacy,  his  dislike  to  coercion,  "  I  am  not  in 
the  least  sure  that  he  would.  Judging  by  this  morn- 
ing-" 

"  Then  she  would  —  Lady  Arbuthnot,  I  mean.  And 
you  —  you  are  bound  to  do  it  for  her — you  know  you 
are  bound  —  " 

"  I  ?  "  he  echoed  again. 

"  Yes,  you ! "  she  repeated,  and  there  was  a  quiver  in 
her  voice  —  "  because  you  loved  each  other  once.  Oh  ! 
she  didn't  tell  me  —  I  have  been  learning  a  lot  of  things 
for  myself  lately,  and  I  learned  that  because  —  but  that 
is  nothing !  What  I  mean  is,  that  it  hurts  her  most,  for 
she  was  wrong  —  quite  wrong  —  she  spoilt  your  life  —  " 

"  Perhaps  I  may  be  allowed  to  differ,"  he  began,  stif- 
fening himself  again  after  his  surprise ;  but  she  took  no 
notice  of  his  remark.  Her  face  was  troubled  by  her 
own  thought  —  she  was  absorbed  in  it  — 

"  It  has  come  between  you  and  everything,  not  the 
regret,  but  —  I  don't  know  what  to  call  it  quite  —  the 
value  you  have  put  upon  it.  And  she  has  put  it  too. 
So  you  want  to  forget,  and  yet  you  don't.  You  think  it 
so  big  a  thing  that  it  must  be  forgotten  —  made  a  fuss 
about.  But  it  isn't.  It  isn't  really  part  of  one  at  all. 
I've  learned  that  lately.  And  there  is  a  better  way"  — 
she  broke  off,  and  came  quite  close  to  him,  looking  him 
in  the  face  :  "  not  to  forget,  and  yet  not  to  care.  Do 
this  for  her,  Mr.  Raymond,  do  it  as  you  would  do  it  for 
me  !  "  Here,  for  the  first  time,  a  faint  smile  showed  in 
her  eyes,  not  on  her  lips.  "  It  is  a  funny  thing  for  me 
to  say,  perhaps,  but  —  but  I  gave  you  the  ram  riicki, 
didn't  I  ?  And  so,  no  matter  what  else  there  is  in  the 
world  that,  perhaps,  we  can't  help,  I  want  you  to  do  this 
for  her  and  for  me  together,  as  you  would  for  a  man,  as  I 
would  do  it  for  a  woman." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  as  she  spoke,  and  held  it 
there  ;  not  in  a  touch,  but  a  clasp. 

"  And  —  and  forget  —  whatever  else  there  may  be  — 
always,"  he  asked  steadily ;  "  forget  for  you  both  }  " 


348  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

"  Please,"  she  replied  quietly  ;  "  for  her  and  for  me  — 
always !  " 

For  an  instant  —  one  short  instant  —  the  man's  instinc- 
tive recognition  of  woman's  goodness  and  kindness  — 
and  of  something  else,  perhaps,  which  had  lain  behind 
the  appeal — made  Jack  Raymond  feel  as  if  he  must 
kiss  the  hand  that  lay  on  his ;  then  he  laid  his  other  one 
on  it,  returning  the  clasp. 

"  But  how  on  earth  is  it  to  be  done  ?  "  he  said,  frown- 
ing as  they  stood  thus,  like  children  playing  a  game ; 
"the  office  won't  take  it  without  authority  —  some  one's 
name — " 

"  Couldn't  you  send  it  from  here —  I  can  signal.  I've 
learned  —  oh !  such  a  lot  of  things  that  have  never  been 
of  any  real  use,  and  —  No!  they  keep  the  instrument 
locked,  I  know  —  that  won't  do  !  Fll  forge  the  name  — 
I  could  —  and  I  don't  mind." 

He  smiled.  "  Nor  I  —  they  can't  stop  my  promotion 
now !  But  the  telegraph-office  will  be  closed.  I  might 
get  hold  of  some  one,  perhaps,  by  saying  —  No  !  for  why 
shouldn't  it  have  been  sent  from  here !  That  question 
would  stump  us.  We  might  try  the  railway  station. 
Yes  !  of  course  !  The  wire  to  Fareedabad  is  only  a  rail- 
way one.  Even  the  regular  office  could  only  pass  it  on. 
By  Jove  !  that's  lucky  all  round." 

She  caught  at  the  idea.  "  Write  it  out  quick  —  there 
are  forms  in  Captain  Lloyd's  room  over  there !  My 
bicycle's  ready,  I'll  take  it.     How  much  time  have  I  ?  " 

"  Plenty  still."  He  glanced  round  the  room  they  had 
just  entered  and  saw  another  bicycle.  "  I'll  take  that, 
and  save  you  lending  yours." 

"  But  I'm  coming  too,"  she  put  in  swiftly.  "  I  must! 
I'm  only  going,  while  you  write,  to  tell  the  bearer  to 
look  after  Jerry  —  he's  in  bed  already  —  while  I'm  away. 
It  won't  take  long." 

She  was  down  the  stairs  again  as  he  was  wheeling 
the  cycle  into  the  hall,  the  still  wet  telegram  loose  in 
his  hand. 

"Hold  that  a  minute,"  he  said,  "  that  tyre  wants  a 


THE  BETTER  PART  349 

pump — it  will  save  time  in  the  end.  It  wouldn't  do  to 
have  a  smash  —  would  it  ?  "    He  spoke  quite  cheerfully. 

"No  !  "  she  replied,  smiling  back  as  she  helped  him. 
"  Not  if  there  is  going  to  be  a  '  weal  wow,'  as  Jerry 
calls  it." 

"  Something  very  like  one,  anyhow !  "  he  answered. 
"  And  you  never  can  tell  what  may  happen  if  these 
things  aren't  stopped  at  once.  We  might  have  them 
all  over  the  place  by  to-morrow  morning  —  trying  to 
pull  down  the  flag  perhaps  —  who  knows."  He  spoke 
lightly  again,  but  for  all  that  he  had  thought  it  worth 
while  to  pocket  a  revolver,  which  had  been  lying  on 
Captain  Lloyd's  table ;  and  as  Lesley  passed  out  first, 
with  her  bicycle,  he  gave  a  look  at  the  weapon  to  see 
how  many  chambers  were  loaded ;  that  was  always  a 
wise  precaution. 

So,  being  busy,  neither  of  them  saw  a  little  figure  in 
a  scarlet  flannel  sleeping-suit  which  had  stealthily  fol- 
lowed Lesley  downstairs ;  a  listening  little  figure  with 
wide  grey  eyes. 

The  next  instant  those  two  were  careering  down  the 
Mall,  fast  as  wheels  could  carry  them. 

"  It  is  a  quaint  cipher,"  said  Lesley,  who,  hands  off, 
was  folding  the  now  dry  telegram. 

"Yes!"  replied  Jack  Raymond  absently  —  he  was 
working  out  what  had  to  be  done.  "  I  might  send  it 
plain,  but  for  the  cachet  of  authority  —  Heaven  save  the 
mark !  —  it  gives.  And,  of  course,  the  contents  are 
better  not  known,  even  by  the  baboo.  But  I'm  afraid 
he  must  know  something ;  for  I  must  first  of  all  wire 
direct  to  the  station-master  at  Fareedabad  to  stop  the 
up-mail  —  there  isn't  time  for  the  order  to  go  through 
the  magistrate.  And  that's  really  the  thing  to  make 
sure  of,  for  the  down-mail  doesn't  pass  Fareedabad  till 
midnight,  and  it  would  take  almost  as  long  to  get  steam 
up  from  here  —  especially  as  it  is  Sunday  and  the  rail- 
way people  all  over  the  place." 

There  were  not  many  of  them  certainly  in  the  wide 
deserted  station,  which  echoed  under  their  hurrying  feet. 


350  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Indeed,  barring  a  few  would-be  native  passengers  hud- 
dled up  listlessly  in  their  shawls  waiting  on  the  steps 
outside  for  the  train,  which  experience  told  them  would 
come  sooner  or  later  —  figures  common  to  every  railway 
station  in  India  —  not  a  human  being  was  visible.  That, 
too,  was  nothing  uncommon,  when  trains  come  four  or 
five  times  a  day  at  least.  And  the  up-mail  had  passed 
but  a  short  time  before ;  so  all  things  were  at  their 
slackest  after  that  excitement. 

"There  must  be  some  one,  somewhere!"  remarked 
Jack  Raymond,  "and  if  not,  I  must  break  in  to  the  tele- 
graph-office, and  you  must  signal."  Then  he  laughed. 
"  You  are  leading  me  horribly  astray.  Miss  Drummond. 
I  shall  be  transported  for  life  before  I  know  where  I 
am." 

"They  will  have  to  transport  me  too,  then,"  she  said 
cheerfully. 

But  there  was  no  need  for  felonious  entry.  The  tele- 
graph-office door  was  open,  and  Jack  Raymond,  seeing 
a  native  clerk  asleep  inside,  told  Lesley  she  had  better 
remain  unseen  for  the  time. 

So  she  walked  up  the  empty  platform  with  its  closed 
doors  and  looked  down  the  lessening  ribbon  of  line  to 
the  drawbridge  pier,  and  came  back  again.  Absorbed 
in  her  own  thoughts,  it  was  not  until  she  heard  the  click 
click  of  a  telegraph  instrument,  clearly  audible  in  the 
dead  silence,  that  she  recognised  she  was  passing  beyond 
her  goal.     She  pulled  up  to  wait,  to  listen. 

T  —  U  —  M  ■ —  What  on  earth  was  the  man  signal- 
ling }  And  what  symbol  was  that }  Something  she  did 
not  know.  Had  they  a  different  code }  No.  S  —  H  — 
S  —  H  —  K  —  those  she  recognised.  But  what  a  combi- 
nation !  Was  it  the  cipher.-*  No!  she  had  seen  that  — 
that  was  mostly  vowels.  .  .  . 

Then  it  flashed  upon  her  that  the  man  was  telegraph- 
ing nonsense  —  he  was  not  telegraphing  at  all !  —  he 
was  against  them  ! 

She  had  hardly  realised  this,  when  Jack  Raymond 
came  out.     "  There !  that's  done,  and  God  go  with  it," 


THE  BETTER  PART  35 1 

he  said  hurriedly;  "the  only  thing  is  —  what  had  we 
better  do  with  the  baboo  ?  He  must  suspect.  I  have  a 
thousand-rupee  note  left  of  your  money.  Shall  I  bribe 
him  with  it  to  keep  quiet  for  two  hours  .-•  " 

"No!"  she  said  swiftly,  savagely;  "you  had  better 
kill  him  !  "     He  stared. 

"He  hasn't  sent  them  —  the  telegrams,  I  mean  — 
at  least  not  the  last.  It  was  all  gibberish.  I  was 
listening." 

He  gave  a  low  whistle.  "  By  Jove  !  "  —  then  he  looked 
at  her —  "you  have  been  of  use." 

His  pause  was  only  for  a  second.  "  You'd  better 
come  in  with  me  and  lock  the  door  —  we  shall  have  to 
see  this  thing  through,  I  expect.  I  remember  they  told 
me  some  of  the  railway  people  were  in  it,  and  if  that  is 
so  we  must  prevent  them  getting  wind  of  this,  till  it's 
too  late  for  tJiemT 

With  that  he  drew  out  his  revolver  and  went  in  ;  and 
Leslie,  following  him,  locked  the  door  behind  her. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

A    MEMORABLE    OCCASION 

"  A  MEMORABLE  occasion  !  " 

The  phrase  seemed,  somehow,  to  be  inevitable  on  the 
further  side  of  the  city,  where,  as  Ram  Nath  had  fore- 
told, all  of  Nushapore  that  was  worth  considering  was 
gathered  together  for  the  ceremony  of  laying  the  foun- 
dation-stone of  the  Anglo-Vernacular  College.  Ram 
Nath  may  have  started  the  assertion,  but  every  one  else 
followed  suit.  Sir  George  in  his  presidential  address, 
the  treasurer  in  his  financial  statement,  the  distin- 
guished native  official  who — in  proposing  the  vote  of 
thanks  to  Lady  Arbuthnot  for  her  able  assistance  — 
managed  to  drag  in  the  Dufferin  fund  and  the  benefits 
of  female  education  by  the  way !  So,  one  by  one,  the 
delegates  of  the  various  sects  and  associations  who  were, 
bhssfully,  to  forget  their  differences  over  —  over  this 
memorable  occasion ! 

Some  added  a  "  most "  to  it ;  others  went  so  far  as  to 
say  it  marked  an  era ;  while  a  peculiarly  eloquent 
speaker  went  one  better  by  introducing  the  "Annals  of 
Empire." 

But  the  point  on  which  they  were  all  agreed  was  — 
that  it  luas  "a.  memorable  occasion." 

And  there  was  curiously  little  unreality  about  the 
assertion,  for  everybody  went  about  with  a  noticeable 
satisfaction,  that  was  due  to  a  feeling  of  duty  done. 
It  was  all  infinitely  proper  and  pleasing :  and  when  the 
initial  ceremony  was  over  and  a  pause  came  for  tea 
between  it  and  the  giving  of  diplomas,  it  was  quite  a 
pretty  sight  to  see  the  mixed  multitude  walking  about 
admiring  and  criticising  the  building,  that  some  time  or 

352 


A   MEMORABLE    OCCASION  353 

another,  —  for  funds  at  the  moment  were  a  trifle  low 
—  would  be  built.  And  this  had  been  made  possible 
by  the  ingenious  and  distinctly  novel  device  of  laying 
out  the  site  as  a  lawn,  on  which  narrow  beds  of  flowers 
followed  the  lines  of  the  foundations  to  come,  while  in 
the  centre,  under  what  was  to  be  the  central  dome, 
stood  a  model  (large  enough  to  allow  the  dehghted 
native  visitors  to  creep  through  it  if  they  chose), 
which  had  been  made  of  bamboo,  brown  paper,  and 
mud  plaster,  by  a  distinguished  toy  artist  in  the  city, 
who  had  had  long  practice  in  the  making  of  tazzias  ^  for 
the  MoJiurrmn  processions. 

He  stood  beside  his  latest  creation  now,  a  perfect 
incarnation  of  smile  in  spotless  white  robes,  with  a  mus- 
lin skull-cap  on  his  well-oiled  hair,  ready  to  receive  con- 
gratulations on  his  work.  They  were  many,  though 
the  English  people  kept  theirs  chiefly  for  the  garden. 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  my  pansies  grow  as  evenly," 
remarked  one  lady  who  was  devoted  to  hers,  as  she 
looked  enviously  round  the  reading-room  to  be,  that  was 
outlined  by  a  dense  border  of  purple  and  yellow. 

"  Nothing  easier !  "  replied  the  Secretary-to-Govern- 
ment,  who  was  showing  her  round.  "  Cut  them  to  pat- 
tern with  a  foot-rule  —  they  are  only  stuck  in  for  the 
day !  "  He  pulled  up  one  as  he  spoke,  showed  it  to  her 
rootless,  then  stuck  it  in  again  with  a  laugh.  "  It  is  a 
regular  native  dodge.  They  are  Ai  at  making  dream- 
palaces,  you  know.  Curious,  isn't  it  .-*  that  the  mush- 
room should  grow  so  well  in  India,  the  most  conservative 
of  countries ;  but  cheap  labour  and  cheap  words  are 
absolutely  demoralising." 

"  Stuck  in  !  So  they  are,"  echoed  the  gardening  lady. 
"  Just  a  regular  child's  garden  ;  but  it  looks  well,  doesn't 
it .-'  Poor  things  !  "  she  added,  stooping  to  touch  a  pansy 
with  the  caressing  touch  of  the  flower-lover ;  "  but  if 
they  were  only  left  alone  for  a  time,  you  know  they 
would  soon  strike  root." 

"  Perhaps  !  "    admitted    the    Secretary-to-Government 

1  Models  of  the  tombs  of  Hussan  and  Hussein. 
2  A 


354  VOICES  I.V   THE   NIGHT 

dubiously,  as  they  drifted  off  to  the  tea-table  where  Mrs. 
Chris  Davenant — who  had  presented  her  bouquet  with 
charming  grace  —  was  presiding,  assisted  by  Chris  in 
his  frock-coat  with  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole. 

He  was,  in  the  eyes  of  many  around  him,  at  the  pin- 
nacle of  prosperity,  for  the  Lieutenant-Governor,  as 
he  drank  his  tea,  was  talking  to  him  (as  Vice-President) 
yet  he  did  not  look  happy,  perhaps  because  he  could 
catch  a  glimpse  outside  the  tent  of  Swami  Viseshwar 
Nath,  standing  apart  from  the  ruck  amid  the  little  knot 
of  high-caste  Hindoos  who  had  brought  him  there  with 
blandishings  and  bribes,  as  ocular  demonstration  of  the 
widespread  sympathy  and  support  the  college  was  re- 
ceiving from  all  classes  of  the  community;  and  who  had 
promised  to  be  responsible  for  his  bodily  and  spiritual 
immunity  from  defilement. 

By  and  by,  Chris  knew,  he  would  have  to  reckon  with 
that  figure,  whose  brown,  bare  shaven  head,  and  brown 
bare  legs,  showed  beyond  a  short  salmon-pink  shirt  hung 
with  a  rope  of  big  brown  beads  matching  the  tint  of  the 
skin.  Such  an  inconceivable,  incredible  figure,  seen 
behind  that  of  Mrs.  Carruthers  in  her  last  Paris  frock ! 

Yes  !  by  and  by  Chris  must  make  his  choice.  If  it  had 
only  been  for  himself,  that  choice,  it  would  have  been 
easy;  but  it  was  for  Naraini  also  — 

Naraini  !  Naraini  !  Naraini  ! 

The  thought  of  her  haunted  him.  Her  very  aloofness 
from  such  a  scene  as  this,  the  impossibility  of  imagining 
her  in  any  part  of  it,  held  him  captive.  No  !  there  was 
no  place  here  for  such  as  she  ;  not  even  in  the  tent  where 
a  few  of  the  more  emancipated  wives,  and  sisters,  and 
mothers  of  Shark  Lane  were,  Hterally,  on  show  to  the 
elect ;  and  whither  Lady  Arbuthnot  was  at  that  very 
moment  being  conducted  by  an  elate  but  apologetic  hus- 
band, who  was  saying  with  cheerful  pomp  — 

"You  will  find  them  very  stupid,  since  they  have  as 
yet  enjoyed  small  benefit  from  Uberal  education  ;  but 
time  will  show." 

Time  will  show !     Undoubtedly ;  it  was  showing  re- 


A   MEMORABLE  OCCASION  355 

suits  already  in  the  foundations  of  flowers  through  which 
the  speaker  was  passing.  Results  that  were  oddly  des- 
potic, beyond  the  expectation  or  control  of  those  who 
had  planted  that  child's  garden.  The  poppies,  for  in- 
stance, native  to  the  soil  as  they  were,  had  given  up  the 
pretence  of  root ;  the  exotic  pansies,  on  the  other  hand, 
winked  boldly  at  the  westering  sun  as  at  an  enemy 
vanquished. 

It  was  fate,  or  something  beyond  fate,  even  here. 

"  It  really,"  remarked  Sir  George  almost  mechanically, 
"is  a  memorable  occasion." 

"Very,  indeed!"  assented  poor  Chris,  realising  that 
it  was  one,  at  any  rate,  that  Jie  was  not  likely  to  forget. 

"Excuse  me!  "  put  in  the  Commissioner,  coming  up 
hurriedly,  "  but  if  I  may,  sir,  I  should  like  to  have  a 
word  with  you!  " 

Sir  George  put  down  his  cup,  Chris  moved  off,  and 
so  did  the  two  officials,  to  converse  earnestly  as  they 
circled  round  that  toy  model  of  the  College  to  come. 

"  I  agree  that  it  is  unfortunate,"  admitted  Sir  George, 
pausing  at  last,  a  trifle  impatiently,  "  but  I  refuse  to 
believe  there  is  any  immediate  likelihood  of  disturbance. 
It  is  inconceivable  with  tJiis  going  on.  Every  one  looks 
content,  except  perhaps  the  pensioners.  Jehan  Aziz,  I 
notice,  is  absent,  but  that  is  only  decent  —  and  one  can- 
not wonder  at  their  annoyance."  Here  his  glance  fell 
resentfully  on  Mr.  Lucanaster,  who  —  the  day  being 
Sunday  when  no  other  entertainment  was  available  — 
had  honoured  the  "  memorable  occasion  "  with  his  pres- 
ence. "That  has  been  a  most  unfortunate  business," 
he  continued,  frowning,  "  but  you  will  admit  that  the 
Nawab  has,  on  the  whole,  behaved  well  in  allowing  both 
his  wife's  death  and  the  girl's  abduction  —  though,  I 
believe,  Lucanaster  is,  as  he  says,  out  of  that  —  to  be 
hushed  up." 

"  Why  should  he  allow  it ,''  that's  what  I  want  to  know, 
sir,"  argued  the  Commissioner.  "  There  is  something 
behind,  depend  upon  it,  and  that  is  never  satisfactory 
with  a  native.     The  whole  thing  is  fairly  maddening. 


356  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

just  at  a  time  when  I  wanted  to  feed  the  lot  on  soothing 
syrup  —  even  the  fact  that  that  culpable  homicide  case 
in  cantonments  has  to  be  hung  up  because  the  accused 
is  ill  with  typhoid  !  " 

".I  wouldn't  worry  about  it,  though,  Kenyon,"  re- 
plied Sir  George  kindly,  "  as  I  told  Mr.  Raymond  this 
morning." 

"  Raymond .-' "  echoed  the  Commissioner  eagerly. 
"  What  did  he  say }     His  views  are  always  interesting." 

The  kindness  vanished.  "  Something  of  what  you 
tell  me.  I  disagreed  with  him,  as  I  disagree  with  you. 
However,  to  show  you  that  I  have  perfect  confidence  in 
your  discretion,  and  also  to  back  my  own  opinion  —  for, 
mind  you,  if  I  thought  there  was  the  very  slightest 
chance  of  your  having  to  use  it,  I  would  hesitate  to 
give  it  —  you  shall  have  what  you  ask  for,  sanction  to 
wire  direct  to  Fareedabad  after  you  have  seen  what  the 
city  is  like  for  yourself,  instead  of  returning  to  report. 
It  might,  as  you  say,  make  the  difference  of  catching 
the  midnight  mail ;  though  there  really  is  no  —  "  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  tolerantly.  "However,  you  had 
better  have  it  in  order,"  he  continued,  taking  out  his 
pocket-book  and  pencil  with  a  certain  elaborate  patience, 
and  finally,  with  a  return  to  his  usual  kindly  manner, 
holding  out  a  duly  signed  and  dated  service-telegram. 
"  There  !  "  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  I  carry  forms  about 
with  me  these  times.  Now,  mind,  this  is  a  personal 
favour  for  to-night  only,  Kenyon.  I  wouldn't  do  as 
much  for  any  one  else  in  India,  and  it  is  only  to  set 
your  mind  at  ease ;  you  can  bring  it  back  to  me  when 
you  come  to  report !  And  now,  for  heaven's  sake,  let 
us  get  over  this  diploma  business.  I  only  wish  I  could 
come  with  you  to  the  city,  but  I  must  see  this  show 
through." 

So,  while  the  hoofs  of  the  Commissioner's  horse,  as 
he  rode  citywards  with  the  chief  of  the  police  and  the 
magistrate  who  had  brought  the  disturbing  rumours, 
echoed  down  the  hard  white  road,  which  was  laid  so 
evenly  between  a  double  row  of  mud  roundels  protect- 


A  MEMORABLE    OCCASION  357 

ing  lately  planted  trees,  the  show  —  as  Sir  George  had 
called  it  —  began.  It  was  rather  like  a  school-prize- 
giving,  with  men  and  women  instead  of  children,  for  the 
inevitable  table  (covered  with  the  twopenny-halfpenny 
phtil-kari  made  for  the  European  market,  which,  with 
its  sham  Orientalism,  has  on  such  occasions  replaced 
the  honest  red  office  baize)  was  set  in  front  of  Sir  George 
and  Lady  Arbuthnot.  On  it  were  three  packed  posies 
in  green  glass  tumblers,  a  pile  of  diplomas,  duly  made 
out  in  the  recipients'  names,  and  another  pile  of  sham 
Oriental  brocade  bags  in  which  to  keep  them. 

"  You  belong,  of  course  .-* "  said  the  Secretary-to- 
Government,  who  was  standing  apart  during  the  open- 
ing speeches,  to  a  sunburnt  little  lady  in  a  wide  pith 
hat. 

"  Who,  I  .-•  "  she  answered  cheerfully.  "  Oh  dear,  no 
—  I  am  not  often  in  at  headquarters,  and  I  get  on  all 
right  with  my  schools  and  that  sort  of  thing  without  it, 
so  it  doesn't  seem  worth  while." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  the  man  of  headquarters,  once 
more  dubiously.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to  avoid  that 
attitude  towards  much  that  had  to  pass  through  his 
hands,  so  he  set  the  doubtful  point  aside  and  listened 
to  the  President's  certainties  as  he  enlarged  on  the  great 
need  for  closer  ties  of  friendship  and  sympathy  between 
the  rulers  and  the  ruled,  and  the  excellent  results  to  be 
expected  from  meetings  of  this  kind.  Then,  of  course, 
some  one  else  spoke,  and  some  one  else.  And  outside 
the  lawn,  enclosed  with  grass  hurdles,  and  set  with  those 
foundations  of  flowers,  India  was  going  on  its  way  as  it 
had  gone,  untouched  by  change,  for  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  years ;  and  two  women,  furtively  sweeping  up 
a  prize  of  horse-droppings  on  the  outskirts  of  the  assem- 
blage in  order  to  make  them  into  fuel,  talked,  as  they 
swept,  of  the  amulet  that  had  promised  safety  and  brought 
death. 

"Will  you  come,  please,  and  form  up  in  line,"  said  a 
steward,  fussily  collecting  his  candidates  among  the 
listening  circle.     "  It  will  look  better,  and  save  time." 


358  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"  Oh  dear  !  I  hope  I  shan't  get  put  next  a  native," 
murmured  one  little  lady,  quite  plaintively,  as  she  obeyed. 

The  Secretary-to-Government,  who  overheard  the  re- 
mark, smiled ;  still  dubiously. 

He  smiled  again,  and  so  did  some  others,  when  Mrs. 
Chris  Davenant  came  up  to  receive  a  diploma  which  — 
it  had  occurred  to  her  astuteness  —  might  be  worked  to 
her  advantage  in  EngUsh  society.  Perhaps  the  reflection 
that  she  had  already  shown  her  willingness  to  enter  into 
social  relations  with  the  other  race  was  accountable  for 
these  smiles,  but  she  herself,  and  Chris  too,  were  quite 
grave  over  it. 

The  latter,  indeed,  could  not  at  the  moment  have  been 
otherwise  over  anything  in  heaven  or  earth,  for  not  five 
minutes  past,  as  he  stood  dully  indifferent  on  the  edge 
of  that  circle  of  listeners,  he  had  felt  a  touch  on  the 
sleeve  of  his  frock-coat ;  heard  a  low  voice  — 

"  To-night,  Krishn,  at  the  '  Circling  of  the  Lights  '  in 
Kali's  shrine.  We  meet  there,  Her  priests  and  His,  to 
settle  this  matter.    And  thou  must  be  there  also." 

He  had  not  turned  to  see  who  the  speaker  was  ;  he 
had  known  all  too  well.  For  the  moment  he  could  have 
laughed  aloud  at  the  hideous  incongruity  of  it,  with  Viva 
standing  there  waiting  for  her  diploma. 

It  was  growing  late.  The  hght  atom.s  were  trooping 
in  streams  across  the  western  sky,  crowding  closer  and 
closer  into  rays  as  they  sought  shelter  from  the  coming 
darkness  in  the  sinking  sun.  There  was  a  great  hush 
over  all  things,  in  which  Grace  Arbuthnot's  voice,  as  she 
read  out  the  names  of  the  recipients,  could  be  distinctly 
heard.  A  hush,  not  a  silence ;  that  cannot  come  within 
earshot  of  a  great  city. 

"  It  has  taken  longer  than  I  thought,"  remarked  one 
of  the  stewards,  yawning,  when  —  at  long  last  —  the 
list  came  to  an  end. 

"Gracious!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Chris  —  horrified  at  the 
watch  Mr.  Lucanaster  showed  her  sulkily — "we  shall 
be  late.  Here,  Chris  !  take  this  thing  while  I  put  on  my 
jacket." 


A   MEMORABLE   OCCASION  359 

She  thrust  the  diploma  into  her  husband's  hand,  and 
left  it  there,  as  she  hurried  into  the  dusk  after  Mr. 
Lucanaster,  who  had  gone  to  search  for  his  dogcart. 

"Jerry  will  be  fast  asleep,  I  expect,"  said  Grace  Ar- 
buthnot  regretfully,  as  she  settled  herself  in  the  carriage 
beside  Sir  George,  "  for  I  told  Lesley  to  put  him  to  bed 
early  and  give  him  some  bromide.  Oh  !  there  is  nothing 
the  matter  with  him,  George  !  Only,  you  know,  he  gets 
a  little  over-excited  sometimes  when  he  has  a  touch  of 
fever,  and  bromide  sets  him  off  to  sleep  nicely.  I  am 
sorry  Lesley  couldn't  come  this  afternoon  —  it  must  have 
been  dull  for  her  at  home !  " 

Dull,  however,  was  the  last  word  Lesley  Drummond 
would  have  applied  to  that  afternoon's  experience. 
When  she  had  followed  Jack  Raymond  into  the  tele- 
graph-ofifice  at  the  station,  she  had  simply  obeyed  orders, 
not  knowing  in  the  least  what  was  going  to  happen.  He 
had,  however.  He  had  walked  straight  up  to  the  clerk, 
who  had  turned  deadly  grey-green  at  his  reappearance, 
and  seized  him  by  the  throat ;  so  that  violence  was  over, 
and  the  offender  in  collapse  on  the  stool  behind  him,  by 
the  time  that  Lesley  had  locked  the  door  and  looked 
round. 

"  Will  you  come  here,  please  }  "  Jack  Raymond  said  to 
her  quietly.  "  You'll  find  a  pencil  and  paper,  I  expect, 
on  the  table  —  and  where  is  the  cipher  telegram  —  oh, 
there  !  —  that  will  do.  Now,  baboo,  telegraph  that  right, 
will  you }  Miss  Drummond,  if  you  will  look  over  and 
tick  the  letters  off  as  he  signals  them,  and  let  me  know 
when  he  makes  a  mistake,  I'll —  I'll  settle  it !  " 

He  drew  the  revolver  out  of  his  pocket  as  he  spoke, 
and  stood  to  one  side  to  let  those  two  pass  to  the  instru- 
ment. "  Of  course,  baboo,''  he  continued,  "  the  lady,  who 
—  unfortunately  for  you  —  can  signal,  could  do  it  herself, 
but  I  prefer  that  you  should  do  what  you  are  told.  Do 
you  understand  1  " 

The  greyness  and  the  greenness  became  almost  death- 
like. And  Lesley  Drummond's  colour  forsook  her  also. 
Would  it  be  a  death-warrant  she  would  have  to  give  by 


36o  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

looking  up  and  saying  "  Wrong  "  ?  It  might  be.    His  face 

—  the  face  she  was  accustomed  to  see  so  careless  — 
looked  stern  enough  now  even  for  that.  Yet  it  might  be 
needful.  This  treachery  —  there  had  not  been  time  to 
ex'change  a  single  word  about  it  —  might  mean  so  much. 
But  he  would  know  how  much,  and  so  be  able  to  judge. 

Yet  as  she  bent  over  the  telegram,  ticking  the  — to 
her  —  unmeaning  cipher  off,  letter  by  letter,  she  felt 
that  her  heart  echoed  that  uneven  shudder  of  the 
handles ;  and  she  felt  that  Jack  Raymond's  eyes  upon 
her,  as  he  watched  for  a  sign,  were  like  the  eyes  of 
fate.  Would  she  have  to  give  that  sign .-'  And  if  so, 
what  would  happen  ">  There  was  no  thought  of  pity 
for  the  man  in  her  mind,  only  a  great  dread,  a  horrible 
apprehension,  of  this  responsibility  for  herself.  Yet 
it  must  be  so  ;  she  knew  that,  though  the  words,  "  Don't 

—  don't,  please,  don't  —  oh!  don't  be  a  fool,"  came 
constantly  to  the  very  verge  of  her  lips. 

"  Is  that  all } "  asked  Jack  Raymond,  when  a  longer 
pause  than  usual  came.  She  felt  quite  sick  and  giddy 
with  relief  as  she  nodded  —  for  even  now  she  feared 
lest  a  look  up  might  be  construed  into  a  sign. 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you  —  before  you  began  — 
that  his  sort  aren't  obstinate,"  he  went  on  observantly. 
"There  is  no  fear  of  —  of  that — Miss  Drummond  ! 
So  now,  please,  for  the  station-master.  And  I  think 
it  will  be  better  to  tell  them  not  to  wire  back.  There 
are  evidently  railway  men  in  this  affair ;  besides,  we 
mustn't  risk  being  found  out  too  soon,  must  we  .-'  So 
'  extreme  caution '   and   '  utmost  secrecy  '   is  our  game 

—  the  great  thing  is  to  get  the  troops  started  before 
we  are  found  out." 

Found  out !  Lesley  had  hardly  realised  that  view  of 
the  matter  as  yet,  and  the  thought  gave  her  a  qualm. 
Yet  she  went  on  checking  the  dadoo's  signals  and  the 
brief  answers  that  were  asked  for,  just  to  show  that  the 
orders  were  understood. 

When  that  was  over.  Jack  Raymond  looked  at  the 
dadoo    distastefully,    then    turned    to    the   girl  —  "I'm 


A   MEMORABLE   OCCASION  361 

puzzled  what  to  do  with  him,"  he  said  in  French ; 
whereat  the  baboo  seemed  to  give  up  all  hope  of  escape 
and  sank  in  a  dejected  heap  on  the  floor,  rocking  him- 
self backwards  and  forwards,  and  murmuring,  "  I  quite 
innocent  man  —  oh,  my  lord!  innocent  as  suckling 
babes,"  until  Jack  bid  him  be  quiet. 

**  It  is  no  use  wasting  time  by  trying  to  find  out  how 
far  he  is  in  it.  He  would  only  lie,  and  I  know  enough 
for  the  present.  As  I  told  you  coming  along,  the 
danger  is  in  the  native  regiment  refusing  to  keep  order, 
if  they  are  asked  to  do  so.  That  would  be  mutiny,  and 
the  knowledge  of  the  penalty  would  make  the  men 
reckless,  and  there  might  —  excuse  me  —  be  the  devil 
of  a  row !  What  we  want  to  do  is  to  avoid  the  necessity 
for  asking  them,  by  having  other  men  available.  They 
won't  be  wanted  before  ten  o'clock  at  earliest  —  the 
rush  on  the  hospitals  was  to  be  about  midnight.  The 
Fareedabad  fellows  should  be  here,  at  latest,  by  nine  — 
plenty  of  time  !  And  if  we  let  Sir  George  and  Co. 
know  what  we  have  done  by,  say,  eight  o'clock,  that 
should  do.  It  is  no  use  giving  ourselves  away  too  soon, 
and  the  thing  we  have  to  make  certain  of  is  that  the 
Fareedabad  men  do  come  up  to  time.  Now,  I  could 
tie  the  baboo  up  and  lock  the  door  on  him,  but  how  am 
I  to  guard  against  the  likelihood  of  fellow-conspirators 
coming  to  look  after  him  .-•  They  might  get  to  sending 
telegrams ;  they  may  be  sending  them  now  through 
the  other  office  for  all  I  know,  in  which  case  they  must 
be  stopped  here.  At  any  rate,  this  man  must  have  been 
on  his  guard  against  any  communication  with  Fareeda- 
bad, or  he  would  not  have  been  so  sharp.  In  fact,  if 
we  had  gone  to  the  Post  Office,  he  would  never  have 
repeated  our  message ;  for,  as  I  told  you,  the  only  wire 
to  Fareedabad  is  the  railway  one.  T/iat,  I  expect,  is 
why  he  was  on  duty.  However,  I'm  inclined  to  think 
we  had  best  stop  here,  for  a  time,  and  make  certain. 
Of  course,  if  one  of  us  could  stop  and  the  other  go, 
it  might  be  best.  But  I  can't  do  without  you  —  a  mes- 
sage might  come  through  any  moment  and  I  should  be 


362  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

in  his  hands,  the  brute  !  —  he  thought  himself  quite  safe, 
and  would  have  been,  but  for  you!  You  locked  the 
door,  didn't  you  ?  " 

He  walked  over  to  it,  however,  to  make  sure  of  the 
fastening,  and  then  pushed  the  heavy  office  table  across 
it.  "  They  may  have  duplicate  keys,  and  I  don't  want 
them  inside,"  he  explained.  Then  he  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment looking  at  the  girl  —  "I'm  awfully  sorry;  but 
you  won't  mind,  I  know.  I  wonder  if  there  is  a  cushion 
anywhere  to  make  you  more  comfortable.  No !  but  a 
ledger  will  be  better  than  the  bare  floor."  He  took  one 
or  two  and  placed  them  behind  the  table.  "  Now,  if 
you  don't  mind  sitting  down  there,  where  I  can  see  you 
and  nobody  else  can  —  even  if  we  have  to  open  the 
shutter  —  that  will  do  nicely."  Then  he  turned  to  the 
heap  in  the  corner.  "  Now  get  up,  baboo-jee,"  he  said 
politely,  "  and  resume  your  duties  ;  you  can  sit  on  that 
stool.  If  anybody  comes  along,  keep  quiet,  and  don't 
open  the  shutter  till  I  give  the  signal.  Then  you  can 
transact  business  as  usual.  But  mind,  if  you  try  it  on 
again,  the  M.\?,s-sahiba  will  warn  me,  and  I  will  —  warn 
you." 

He  laid  the  revolver  ostentatiously  on  the  table,  then 
—  borrowing  the  baboo's  comforter,  which  was  hanging 
on  a  peg  —  he  sat  down  at  the  table  in  a  beautifully  ba- 
boo-Q.sc\ViQ  attitude  with  his  legs  twined  round  his  chair. 

"  Will  I  do  ^ "  he  asked  gravely  of  Lesley  when  he 
had  finished  making  himself  a  smoking-cap  out  of  black 
transfer-paper,  and  she  could  not  help  laughing  softly. 

"  I  assure  you  it  is  very  serious,"  he  said,  smiling 
also;  "and  I'm  awfully  sorry  to  keep  you;  but  you 
ought  to  get  back  in  time  for  dinner." 

"Dinner ! "  she  echoed,  a  trifle  hurt,  " surely  dinner —  " 

"  Is  a  minor  matter  ?  Never  !  Besides,  I  hope  to 
God  we  are  both  going  to  have  a  £-ood  dinner  to-night ; 
for  that  means  —  success.  There  is  no  earthly  reason 
why  there  should  be  a  row,  you  know.  If  we  see  this 
through,  and  the  troops  come  up  to  time "  —  he 
paused,  lost  in  his  own  previsions.      "  Well,"   he  said 


A   MEMORABLE    OCCASION  363 

finally,  "  we  had  better  not  talk.  A  native's  bare  feet 
are  more  inaudible  than  our  whispers,  and  it  won't  do 
to  be  found  out.     So  —  steady  it  is  for  an  hour  or  so." 

An  hour !  Lesley's  heart  sank  after  the  first  ten 
minutes.  They  seemed  interminable  to  her,  seated  on 
the  ledgers  behind  the  table.  She  could  just  see  Jack 
Raymond  at  the  other  end  of  it,  his  head  down  on  his 
crossed  arms.  Was  he  dozing  .■'  As  likely  as  not.  He 
was  just  that  sort,  while  her  nerv^es  were  quivering.  The 
action  had  been  well  enough  ;  the  excitement  of  that 
had  carried  her  with  it ;  but  now  — }  What  if  Mr. 
Raymond's  estimate  of  the  danger  had  been  excessive  .<' 
He  had  once,  long  ago,  fired  on  a  mob  in  too  great  haste. 
At  least  Government  had  thought  so.  What  had  pos- 
sessed her,  in  a  moment,  to  trust  his  judgment  absolutely 
—  to  cast  in  her  lot  with  his,  as  it  were,  unreservedly  1 
She  blushed  even  in  the  darkness,  that  was  fast  obscur- 
ing all  things,  at  the  thought  — 

"  You  had  better  light  the  lamp,  baboo.  There  is  one, 
isn't  there  .-*  by  your  desk,"  came  his  voice  calmly. 

Then  he  was  not  asleep  ! 

—  And  he  was  very  kind.  But  if  they  were  found 
out.''  If  they  asked  her  why  she  had  done  this  thing, 
what  would  she  answer  .''  What  could  she  say  to  Grace 
Arbuthnot,  who  had  been  wiser  ;  even  though  she  had 
loved  — 

The  lamp  flared  up  under  the  baboo's  trembling  fingers 
and  showed  her  face. 

"  You  poor  child  !  "  came  his  voice  again,  "  I'm  bit- 
terly sorry  ;  but  it  can't  be  long  now  ;  and  —  and  let's 
hope  for  that  good  dinner  ! " 

She  was  glad  of  the  jesting  finish,  glad  that  the  lamp 
went  out  this  time  under  those  trembling  fingers.  When 
it  flared  up  again  she  was  ready  to  be  more  cheerful. 
And  it  was  an  easier  task  after  that,  for  the  deadly 
quiet  passed  and  the  thrill  came  into  life  again,  making 
her  forget  the  question  —  What  if  they  should  be  found 
out.''  —  in  the  possibility  of  being  found  out  all  too  soon. 

For  some  one  tried  the  handle  of  the  door  hurriedly, 


364  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

called  loudly  on  Mohun  Ditta  to  come  out  and  report ; 
then  after  a  time  departed  with  curses. 

"  You  had  better  open  the  shutter,  baboo,''  said  Jack 
Raymond  ;  "  and  go  on,  not  exactly  as  if  I  wasn't  here  — 
that  mightn't  be  safe  under  the  circumstances  —  but  as 
if  you  were  thinking  of  your  pension." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  bleated  the  baboo,  "  I  will  do  best  endeav- 
ours to  please." 

So  silence  fell  again,  to  be  broken  by  another  step 
outside ;  clearly  an  English  step,  making  the  listener 
at  the  table  look  up  as  the  steps  died  away. 

"  Here,  baboo/  send  this  off  quick!"  came  an  English 
voice;  and  Jack  Raymond  had  hard  work  not  to  look 
round. 

But  the  wire  was  only  to  lay  odds  on  a  race  in  Cal- 
cutta; and  even  the  strain  of  listening  for  each  unknown 
letter  did  not  come  to  Lesley,  for  the  baboo  showed  the 
adaptability  of  his  kind,  by  reading  out  the  words  loudly 
and  saying,  "  Is  that  right,  sir .-' "  to  the  sender. 

"  I  hope  so,  baboo/"  said  the  English  boy  with  a  laugh, 
"  or  I  shall  be  stony  broke !  "  So  the  steps  died  away 
once  more. 

"  Only  twenty  minutes  left!  "  remarked  Jack  Raymond 
as  silence  fell  again  ;  but  not  for  long.  The  first  voice 
came  back — this  time  to  the  shutter  —  full  of  reproaches; 
and  the  frantic  anxiety  of  the  baboo  to  keep  the  conver- 
sation within  bounds,  and  prevent  anything  absolutely 
incriminating  from  cropping  up,  made  one  listener  smile 
as  he  sat  pretending  to  copy  way-bills  into  a  ledger. 
And  when  the  voice  passed  on,  and  he  turned  to  look, 
he  laughed  outright  to  see  the  wretched  creature  mop- 
ping the  perspiration  off  his  forehead. 

"  Had  about  enough  ?  "  he  began,  then  paused,  for  an 
imperative  "  kling  kling  "  rang  out  from  the  electric  bell. 

"  Asking  if  the  line  is  clear,"  said  Lesley  from  her 
post,  and  Jack  Raymond  rose  and  stretched  himself. 

"  Then  that's  over !  The  train  has  reached  Bahana, 
and  we  can  go — and  —  and  face  the  rest!  "  He  held 
out  his  hand  to  help  her  to  rise. 


A  MEMORABLE    OCCASION  365 

Face  it !  Could  she  ?  She  hesitated,  and  at  that 
moment  a  step  sounded  outside,  rapid,  with  a  clink  in 
it  —  the  clink  of  spurs  ! 

"  Here,  baboo ! "  said  a  guttural  Northern  voice. 
"  This  for  dispatch  — be-ning  (bearing)  Sirkari.  Take 
it,  fool —  I  have  no  time  to  lose,  and  give  receipt!  " 

There  was  a  pause,  then  the  clink  of  spurs  passed 
again,  and  Jack  Raymond,  who  had  sHpped  into  his 
chair,  crossed  to  the  desk,  looked  over  the  baboo's  shoul- 
der at  the  telegram,  which  was  in  cipher,  and  turned  to 
Lesley  smiling. 

"  Perhaps  we  shan't  have  to  face  it  after  all !  They 
are  sending  to  Fareedabad  off  their  own  bat.  Well ! 
better  late  than  never!"  There  was  a  ring  of  bitter- 
ness in  his  voice. 

"  You  mean,"  began  Lesley,  who  had  crossed  too, 
and  now  stood  looking  down  at  the  official  signature 
below  the  cipher  with  a  half-comprehension. 

"That  they  will  be  a  bit  surprised  when  the  troops 
turn  up  at  nine ;  but  stay !  we  can  dodge  them  a  bit ! 
Baboo  I  what  time  was  this  telegram  given  in  .-'  " 

The  baboo  glanced  at  the  clock.  "  A  quarter  to 
eight,  sir." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind  !  "  contradicted  Jack  Raymond 
in  a  tone  of  voice  which  turned  his  hearer  grey-green 
once  more,  "it  came  in  at  —  let  me  see,  what  is  the  lat- 
est I  can  give  it  —  twenty  minutes  to  seven.  Fill  that 
in,  baboo,  and  file  it  —  not  there,  you  fool !  —  below  the 
other  one  —  that  didn't  come  in  till  half  past!  You 
won't  forget  these  facts,  will  you  1  If  you  don't,  I  —  I 
won't  remember  that  you  made  a  mistake  in  telegraph- 
ing at  first.  Do  you  understand.''  Now,  Miss  Drum- 
mond,  you  should  have  just  time  to  get  home  and  dress 
for  dinner." 

After  he  had  pushed  away  the  table  and  unlocked  the 
door,  she  followed  him  out  into  the  still  almost-deserted 
station  without  a  word.  A  lamp  or  two  had  been  lit ; 
at  the  further  end  a  group  of  coolies  lounged ;  closer 
in  a  light  showed  from  an  office. 


366  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"I'll  bring  the  cycles,"  said  Jack  Raymond,  and  she 
passed  out  from  the  semi-darkness  and  shadow  into 
the  clear  dusk  beyond,  and  stood  waiting,  full  of  a  vague 
amazement  at  herself  and  all  things. 

Behind  the  long  line  of  sheds,  the  overhanging  bas- 
tion belonging  to  the  Royal  Pensioners  rose  dark 
against  the  sky,  where  the  sunset  still  lingered  pale, 
flawless.  But  the  risen  moon  turned  the  slanting  sil- 
houette into  a  reality  of  brick  and  mortar,  and  the  dark 
spots  crowning  it  to  the  figures  of  men. 

And  overhead,  those  specks  in  the  pearl  grey  were 
kites;  for  the  "  Sovereignty  of  Air" — delayed  by  the 
necessity  for  some  of  the  competitors  appearing  on  the 
"memorable  occasion" — had  not  yet  been  awarded. 
Five  or  six  kites  still  floated  for  the  supremacy,  and 
many  a  pair  of  dark  eyes  watched  them,  wondering 
which  would  soar  the  longest,  and  gain  the  Kingship. 
Lateefa's  most  of  all,  as  in  his  capacity  of  kite-maker  to 
the  Royal  Family  he  pulled  in  each  kite  as  it  sank,  and 
added  it  to  the  bundle  of  the  vanquished.  Only  six 
kites  left,  and  one  of  them  carried  the  sign  of  Kingship 
with  a  vengeance  ;  for  he  had  been  too  late,  as  he  had 
feared  he  would  be,  in  his  visit  to  the  courtyard.  Six 
kites,  and  which  of  them  held  the  ring  } 

No  wonder  his  eyes  never  left  those  hovering  specks 
that  still  defied  the  falling  dew. 

But  Lesley,  looking  at  them  also,  scarcely  realised 
that  they  were  kites.  She  was  absorbed  by  her  own 
mean,  miserable  lack  of  backbone.  She  had  shrunk, 
she  told  herself,  from  the  possibility  of  having  to  face 
failure  hand-in-hand,  as  it  were,  with  Jack  Raymond, 
and  now  she  shrank  from  losing  her  hold  on  his  success. 
Or  was  it  her  hold  on  him  —  the  man  himself .'' 

"You  will  just  have  time  if  you  scorch,"  he  said  in 
cheery  haste  as  he  came  down  the  steps.  "  I'm  going 
round  first  to  see  if  those  in  authority  know  all  I  do. 
If  they  do,  they  can't  help  falling  into  line  with  —  with 
our  plans,  and  we  can  fall  out !  But  I  shall  suggest 
that   if,    by    chance,    the   up-mail    was  a  bit   late,    the 


A   MEMORABLE    OCCASION  367 

Fareedabad  people  might  have  taken  advantage,  etc. 
It  will  be  as  well  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  troops  ar- 
riving, before  they're  supposed  to  have  started  !  "  —  he 
paused  at  the  look  on  her  face.  "  At  least  I  can  do  so  ! 
Of  course,  if  you  would  rather  not  back  out  —  but,  as  far 
as  I'm  concerned,  I  think  it  would  be  better  to  lie  low, 
until  the  row's  over,  at  any  rate.  Afterwards,  it  may 
be  necessary  —  or  you  might  wish  —  " 

She  shook  her  head  hastily  as  she  mounted. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand;  "and  — 
and  —  your  way  is  better.  Miss  Drummond  !  " 

Better  !  As  she  sped  through  the  warm  peaceful  dusk 
she  felt  herself  a  fraud,  for  she  could  have  cried  because 
it  was  all  over  —  because  she  was  losing  her  hold  on  him  ! 

But  everything  was  a  fraud ;  the  peaceful  dusk  most 
of  all,  since  its  peacefulness  held  danger,  perhaps  death. 
Not  unknown,  unlooked-for,  but  expected,  appraised  — 

The  gong  was  sounding  as  she  raced  up  to  the  portico, 
a  carriage  stood  at  the  door,  some  guests  for  the  Sunday 
dinner-party  were  stepping  out  of  it.  She  would  be 
horribly  late,  and  what  excuse  could  she  make  to  Lady 
Arbuthnot  t 

None  was  needed.  As  she  came  out  of  her  room  again 
after  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  and  ran  down 
stairs,  she  overtook  Grace  coming  from  hers. 

"  Oh  !  Lesley,"  she  said,  turning  as  she  fastened  her 
bracelet,  "  I  wanted  to  see  you,  and  I  haven't  had  a 
moment  since  I  came  in.  Sir  George  is  called  out  — 
the  Commissioner  met  us  on  our  way  back.  It  is  trou- 
ble in  the  city  —  but  George  has  sent  for  troops,  and  they 
say  it  will  pass  over,  as  it  was  taken  in  time.  But,  of 
course,  no  one  is  to  know  —  so  George,  remember,  has 
a  touch  of  fever,  and  everything  is  to  go  on  as  usual." 

"I'm  —  I'm  very  sorry,"  said  the  girl  lamely. 

"Sorry!"  echoed  Grace,  "I'm  not  sure  if  I  am.  I 
felt  it  would  come,  and  I'm  glad,  oh !  so  glad,  that 
George  was  so  prompt !  It  will  be  well  over,  and  it  mjist 
be  so,  for  it  was  taken  in  time,  you  see.  By  the  bye !  how 
was  Jerry  this  afternoon .-'     I  only  had  time  to  glance  in 


368  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

at  the  door  as  I  ran  up  to  dress,  but  he  didn't  stir,  so  he 
must  have  gone  to  sleep  all  right  —  Needham  said  he 
hadn't  been  talking." 

Lesley,  who  had  not  had  time  even  for  that  glance,  felt 
relieved.  "  Oh  !  he  was  very  happy.  I  put  him  to  bed, 
and  gave  him  what  you  left  before  I  went  out  on  my 
cycle." 

The  next  moment  she  had  passed  into  the  circle  of 
expectant  guests  in  the  drawing-room,  and  was  adding 
her  apologies  for  being  late  to  Lady  Arbuthnot's. 

"  Bicycling  is  a  very  wholesome  exercise,"  gravely  re- 
marked the  young  assistant  —  in  for  a  Saturday  to  Mon- 
day from  an  out-station  —  who  took  her  in  to  dinner. 

"Very,"  she  replied  as  gravely,  telling  herself  that  a 
vertebrate  creature  had  some  excuse  for  not  being  able 
to  control  its  backbone,  when  it  was  uncertain  if  it  had 
to  stand  on  its  head  or  its  heels. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

THE    SOVEREIGNTY    OF    AIR 

After  Lesley  had  gone  home  to  dinner,  and  Jack 
Raymond — in  quaint  contrast — was  off  to  make  certain 
that  a  rising  in  the  city  was  expected  before  long,  the 
station  settled  down  once  more  into  the  silence  and 
slackness  of  between-train  time  on  a  Sunday  evening. 
The  listless  passengers  to  be,  it  is  true,  still  sat  in 
groups  on  the  steps  outside,  and  every  now  and  again 
some  one  —  who  ought  to  have  been  on  duty  and  was 
not  —  gave  a  look  in,  and  went  off  again.  Once,  in- 
deed, an  assistant  station-master  called  at  the  telegraph- 
office  perfunctorily;  but  the  baboo  had  by  that  time 
recovered  from  his  paralysis  of  terror,  and  begun  to  see 
his  own  advantage  clearly.  True,  he  had  so  far  been 
in  with  the  conspirators,  as  to  have  promised  his  collab- 
oration, should  the  authorities  be  enough  on  the  alert 
to  use  the  telegraph  to  Fareedabad ;  but  in  doing  so  he 
had  thought  himself  safe  from  detection.  He  had  not 
been  so;  but  now  he  had  once  more  a  hope  of  safety 
that  wild  horses  would  not  have  dragged  him  to  lessen. 
Therefore  the  assistant  station-master  went,  as  he  had 
come,  in  ignorance  of  anything  unusual. 

Up  on  the  turret  of  the  bastion  too,  which  abutted  on 
to  the  river  only  a  few  yards  from  the  first  bridge-pier, 
and  which  therefore  gave  full  on  the  station,  the  kite- 
flyers  went  on  with  their  match  undisturbed.  Jehan  was 
there  and  Burkut  Ali,  together  with  most  of  the  Royal 
Family ;  the  former  jubilant  because  his  kite  was  one  of 
those  still  defying  the  falling  dew.  And  Lateefa  was 
there  also,  his  pile  of  vanquished  kites  growing  steadily. 
He  sat  on  the  ground  beside  it,  his  slender  hands  crossed 
2U  369 


370  VOICES  m  the  night 

over  his  knees,  his  thin,  acute  face  upturned.  It  had 
an  odd  amusement  on  it,  and  every  time  he  rose  to  pull 
in  a  fresh  victim,  his  high  trilling  voice  quavered  of 
"oughts"  and  "naughts." 

And  on  the  bathing-steps,  also,  down  on  the  other 
side  of  the  terraced  track  which  ran  between  them  and 
the  turret,  there  was  peace.  They  were,  in  fact,  emptier 
than  usual  at  that  hour;  for  the  "  Circling  of  the  Sacred 
Lights  "  must  be  nigh  at  hand,  since  the  priests  were 
already  coming  for  the  office ;  among  them,  Viseshwar 
Nath  — 

The  baboo  saw  him,  and  salaamed  at  the  unusual  sight, 
when  —  with  his  whole-hearted  betrayal  of  everything 
likely  to  be  a  personal  disadvantage  —  he  walked  out 
beyond  the  station  to  satisfy  himself  that  the  signalman 
obeyed  his  instructions.  For  realising — as  he  sat  on  his 
stool,  still  trembling  with  fear  lest  by  any  mischance 
the  soldiers  should  not  come  in  time  and  he  be  blamed 
for  it  —  that  it  was  necessary  to  have  "  line  clear  "  for  the 
unexpected  train,  he  had  sought  out  the  right  man, 
and  told  him  that  a  special  from  the  north  had  just  been 
wired  to  pass  through  Nushapore,  in  half  an  hour,  on  its 
way  south.  So  he  stood  watching,  waiting  to  see  the 
red  light  change  to  green  on  the  tower-pier,  and  catch 
the  first  echo  of  that  change  in  the  far  distance  at  the 
other  end  of  the  bridge.  And  as  he  stood,  he  beguiled 
his  fat  body  and  mind  from  a  faint  remorse,  by  telling 
himself  that,  under  the  circumstances,  he  was  doing  the 
wisest  thing  for  his  own  party  also  —  that  party  of  prog- 
ress which  had  seized  on  the  ignorant  alarm  of  the 
herd  as  a  fitting  time  in  which  to  record  their  own  pro- 
test against  illegal  tyranny.  Since,  if  their  plans  had 
been  blown  upon,  they  were  better  postponed. 

He  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  therefore,  when  the  signal 
"  Line  clear,  go  ahead  "  showed  close  at  hand  and  far 
off.  But  at  the  same  moment  he  heard  a  step  behind 
him,  and  turned  hastily  to  see  Chris  Davenant.  Chris, 
still  in  his  frock-coat  and  with  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole; 
with  his  wife's  diploma  of  membership  in  the  "  Guild  for 


THE  SOVEREIGNTY  OF  AIR  3/1 

Encouraging  Intercourse  between  the  Rulers  and  the 
Ruled,"  also,  in  his  pocket.  For  he  had  not  been  home 
since  he  left  the  "memorable  occasion";  neither  to  the 
home  in  Shark  Lane,  nor  the  home  in  the  city,  nor  that 
betwixt-and-between  home  in  the  garden  of  plantains. 
In  a  way  they  all  claimed  him,  and  yet  they  were  all 
alike  insufferable,  impossible  to  the  man  himself.  Look- 
ing round  his  world,  there  was  but  one  thing  which 
brought  no  sense  of  revolt  with  it ;  and  that  was  his 
work.  He  felt  that  if  he  could  leave,  not  one  thing, 
but  all  things  behind  him  save  this,  life  might  still  be 
endurable. 

And  so,  when  the  foundations  of  flowers  (freshened 
for  the  time  into  a  promise  of  stability  by  the  romance 
of  moonlight)  were  deserted  alike  by  the  Rulers  and  the 
Ruled,  he  had,  almost  mechanically,  wandered  off  to  the 
scene  of  that  work,  and  had  ever  since  been  strolling  up 
and  down  among  the  general  litter  and  order  of  his  new 
goods  station.  It  soothed  him.  The  sight  of  the  piles 
of  brick  that  would  fall  into  line  after  his  plan,  the  whole 
paraphernalia  brought  together  to  give  form  to  his  idea 
—  an  idea  which  would  take  shape  bit  by  bit  according 
to  Jiis  will  as  surely  as  the  sun  would  rise  —  comforted 
him.  And  yet  it  brought  no  strength  for  the  moment 
that  was  coming,  as  surely. 

Half-past  eight  !  And  at  nine  the  Circling  would 
begin.  Half  an  hour  left — -for  it  would  not  take 
him  a  minute  to  reach  the  temples  —  they  were  close 
enough  — 

Close !  God  in  heaven  !  they  were  too  close  !  Was 
it  possible  to  escape  from  them  .?  was  there  foothold 
for  an  honest  man  between  them  and  the  Palace  of 
Lies  in  which  he  had  lived  so  long .'' 

Was  there }  Only  half  an  hour  left  for  decision,  and 
he  had  not  argued  out  the  matter  with  himself  at  all. 
He  had  only  felt. 

He  must  think ;  and  that  seemed  impossible  out  here 
with  the  moonlight  showing  each  rib  of  the  skeleton 
roof,  each  tier  of  bricks  waiting  for  the  next. 


372  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

And  above  those  black  girders  —  so  strong,  so  tense 
—  were  the  faint  stars.  And  among  them  —  what  ?  — 
kites ! 

He  gave  a  bitter  laugh,  and  told  himself  that  he  must 
get  away  from  fancies  into  facts.  He  would  go  into  the 
little  galvanised  iron  shed,  dignified  by  the  name  of  the 
office,  and  there,  with  pen  and  paper  before  him,  think 
the  matter  out  solidly.  Yes !  with  pen  and  paper. 
He  had  always  been  at  his  best  with  them,  and  the 
memory  of  many  an  examination  was  with  him,  idly,  as 
he  walked  across  the  line  to  the  station  on  the  other 
side  of  it  to  borrow  a  light.  But  the  only  ones  —  in  the 
telegraph  and  the  assistant  station-master's  offices  — 
were  behind  closed  doors ;  and  so,  seeing  a  figure  at  the 
end  of  the  platform,  outlined  against  the  distant  dim- 
ness of  bridge  and  river,  he  went  on  towards  it. 

"  I  want  a  lamp,  baboo  ;  bring  one  over  to  my  office,  I 
have  to  look  up  some  figures,"  he  said  curtly;  for  the 
excuse  had  brought  back  the  memory  of  something  else 
that  he  had  promised  to  see  to  in  the  works,  and  Jan- 
Ali-shan's  advice  having  come  back  also,  made  him 
speak  more  after  the  manner  of  the  master  than  usual. 

That  —  and  the  frock-coat  possibly  —  produced  an 
instant  and  almost  servile  obedience  on  the  part  of  the 
baboo,  whose  mind  was  still  in  that  state  of  dissolution 
which  crystallises  round  the  least  thread  of  authority. 

So,  the  lamp  being  brought,  Chris  sat  down  and  tried 
to  figure  out  facts. 

Taking  it  from  the  point  of  abstract  Right  and  Wrong, 
to  begin  with  — 

He  leant  his  head  on  his  hand  and  thought ;  but  five 
minutes  after  had  to  pull  himself  up  from  a  vague  regret 
that  already  he  had  failed  —  he  had  held  back  informa- 
tion—  though  he  had  promised  Mr.  Raymond,  who  had 
always  been  so  kind  — 

What  a  fool  he  was !  What  had  these  personal 
details  to  do  with  it .-' 

He  bent  himself  to  his  task  again.  Right  and  Wrong  ! 
Higher  and  Lower !     Yet  when,  by  chance,  he  looked 


THE   SOVEREIGNTY  OF  AIR  373 

at  the  paper  before  him  on  which  he  had  been  idly  jot- 
ting down  the  heading  of  his  subject,  it  was  not  "  Right 
or  Wrong,"  "  Higher  or  Lower,"  that  he  saw.  It  was 
"  Naraini  "  ! 

He  stood  up  then  and  faced  himself;  and  her!  He 
r^7//c/ marry  her  —  Viva  would  not  mind  —  she  could  not 
help  it,  anyhow,  she  had  taken  the  risk !  What  if  he 
did?  And  then  —  then  went  back  on  the  priests!  — 
then  chose  — 

For  a  moment  he  stood  tempted,  as  he  had  never  been 
tempted  in  his  life  before. 

And  then  the  door  burst  open,  and  the  baboo,  stutter- 
ing, blubbering  in  his  haste,  almost  fell  at  his  feet. 

"  Oh,  sir,  come !  You  are  nearest  in  authority. 
Come  and  issue  order  sharp.  You  are  master,  sir ! 
Stop  them,  or  this  poor  devil  of  baboo  is  lost.  Issue 
order,  sir,  and  stop  them  from  the  bridge  !  " 

"The  bridge!"  echoed  Chris,  completely  at  fault, 
"  what  bridge  .''  " 

"  Drawbridge,  sir,"  almost  shrieked  the  baboo,  "  and 
express  train  coming  instaiiter.  Oh !  what  can  do  t 
Oh  !  this  poor  devil,  this  poor  innocent  devil !  " 

He  was  grovelling  now,  and  Chris  bade  him  stand  up 
and  speak  Urdu,  almost  as  Jack  Raymond  had  bidden 
Govind.  But  as  he  listened  to  the  baboo's  words,  each 
one,  each  phrase  did  not  translate  itself  into  a  definite 
aspect  of  the  one  central  fact  that  had  to  be  reckoned 
with ;  and  so,  when  the  tale  ended  in  fresh  blubbers,  he 
was  not  ready  to  act  —  he  had  to  think  !  The  very  keen- 
ness of  his  intellectual  apprehension  claimed  clear  per- 
ception of  all  points,  and  he  hesitated  as  he  recapitulated 
them. 

Trouble  expected  in  the  city  —  ah  !  about  the  amulets, 
no  doubt  —  why  had  he  not  spoken  }  Troops  sent  for 
to  Fareedabad,  and  coming  sooner  than  the  authorities 
expected.  How  could  that  be .''  Coming  in  a  few 
moments,  and  the  fact  of  their  having  been  sent  for 
leaking  out  through  the  second  telegram,  the  Commis- 
sioner's telegram  !    Why  had  there  been  two  telegrams.-' 


374  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

"  Oh,  Lord  God !  "  moaned  the  baboo,  reverting  to 
Enghsh  at  this  question,  "  because  this  poor  devil  of  a 
baboo  one  fool !  Yet  doing  duty,  sir  —  getting  line  clear, 
go  ahead,  all  serene  till  Kuzai  fellows  come  bribing  sig- 
nalman for  midnight  train,  so  discovering  special,  beat 
this  poor  body  to  bruises  —  Oh,  sir  !  issue  orders  !  issue 
orders  ! " 

Chris,  in  a  whirl,  stood  aghast.  Issue  orders  ?  What 
orders  ? 

"Yes,  sir  !  Ah  !  come  and  see,  sir,  and  issue  orders !  " 
moaned  the  baboo  again. 

Come  and  see  !  Well !  he  could  at  least  do  that !  He 
dashed  out  at  the  door,  and,  followed  breathlessly  by 
the  baboo,  cut  across  the  line.  As  he  did  so,  a  figure, 
crouching  by  the  telegraph-office,  ran  towards  the 
bridge  end  of  the  station.  In  the  moonlight  he  saw  the 
man's  face,  and  recognised  him  as  one  of  his  butcher's 
gang. 

He  pulled  up  short,  the  consciousness  that  this  was 
something  in  which  he  could  be  no  mere  onlooker,  but 
one  in  which  his  part  must  be  played  as  that  man's 
superior  officer,  coming  to  him.  And  as  he  paused, 
looking  down  the  narrowing  ribbon  of  steel,  he  gave  a 
quick  gasp  of  comprehension.  All  lay  silent,  peaceful, 
but  against  the  dark  shadow  of  the  pier-tower  a  darker 
shadow  was  rising,  and  below  it  that  narrowing  ribbon 
of  steel  ended  sharp,  square,  as  if  cut  off  with  a  knife. 

The  drawbridge  was  being  raised  ! 

Yet  above  it  the  green  light  of  safety,  the  signal  "Line 
clear,  go  ahead''  shone  bright,  and  was  echoed  from 
the  faint  moonshine  and  the  deepening  dark  over  the 
river. 

And  troops,  in  a  special  train,  were  almost  due.  At 
the  very  moment,  indeed,  a  sudden  ringing  of  an  electric 
bell  from  the  telegraph-office  could  be  heard  distinctly 
in  the  silence.  The  sound  seemed  to  finish  the  baboo  ; 
he  squatted  down  on  the  rails,  murmuring,  "  Oh,  flag- 
station  now  !  Oh,  coming  instanter  !  Oh,  please,  mas- 
ter, issue  orders !" 


THE  SOVEREIGNTY  OF  AIR  375 

No !  not  orders ;  something  beyond  orders  surely ! 
Who  was  it  —  was  it  he  himself  in  a  different  life  ?  — 
who  had  been  through  this  before,  with  some  one 
who  had  said,  '^ But  we  don't  let  'em.  No,  sir!  Two 
men,  if  they  zuas  men,  '21  d  keep  that  pier  a  CJiristian 
country  for  a  tidy  timeT 

But  he  was  only  one,  for  that  thing  at  his  feet  was  not 
a  man  !  The  old  north-country  contempt  for  the  down- 
country  swept  through  Chris  as  fiercely  as  contempt  for 
the  east  sometimes  sweeps  through  the  west ;  as,  no 
doubt,  it  sweeps  through  the  east  for  the  west ! 

"  How  many  were  there  ?  "  he  asked  swiftly.  "  Of 
the  gang,  I  mean." 

"Too  many,"  moaned  the  baboo ;  "oh,  sir,  too  many 
for  one  poor  man.  Therefore  vis  et  arinis  forced  into 
telling  truth  on  compulsion  because,  they  knowing 
already  of  train  and  troops,  little  knowledge  became 
dangerous  thing  causing  grievous  hurt." 

"  How  many  }  "  reiterated  Chris  fiercely ;  "  don't  'men 
in  buckram  ' !  "  He  could  not  help  the  quotation  even 
then. 

Five  or  six!  And  the  man  who  had  run  forward  was 
one  —  left  as  a  scout,  of  course  !  And  that  must  be 
another  in  the  shadow  of  the  city  wall,  close  to  the  gap. 
Say  three  or  four,  then,  on  the  bridge-pier ;  and  behind 
him  .''  He  turned  city-wards,  then  realised  that  if  —  if 
the  pier  zvas  to  be  held  as  a  Christian  country,  it  would 
not  matter  how  many  men  were  on  this  side  of  the  draw- 
bridge, provided  those  three  or  four  on  the  pier  could  be 
reckoned  with. 

If!  The  next  moment,  still  uncertain  what  he  should 
do  to  gain  his  object,  yet  intellectually  certain  of  that, 
he  had  run  along  the  platform,  swung  himself  over  the 
lov/  parapet  of  the  retaining-wall,  and  dropped  on  to  the 
bathing-steps,  the  top  of  which  was  here  not  six  feet 
below  the  level  of  the  line.  And  below  him  again 
the  temple  of  Mai  Kali  rose  out  of  the  levels  of  the 
river;  rose  from  the  sunken  ridge  of  rock,  on  which, 
further  out,  in  the  deeper  stream,  the  drawbridge  tower 


376  VOICES  LV  THE  NIGHT 

was  built ;  the  ridge  along  which  he  must  pass,  since  he 
was  no  swimmer,  if  he  was  to  gain  that  iron  ladder. 

There  were  lights  in  the  temple;  twinkUng  lights.  In 
his  headlong  rush  downwards  he  could  see  the  many- 
armed,  blood-red  idol  between  the  figures  of  those  cir- 
cling round  it  with  the  sacred  lamps.  And  that  compel- 
ling clang  of  the  temple  bell  was  in  his  ears.  Yet  he 
did  not  pause.  He  was  on  the  threshold,  when  it  was 
barred  by  Viseshwar  Nath. 

"  Not  yet,  Krishn !  Not  yet !  The  penance  first, 
the  vow  first !  " 

"  It  is  not  that,"  gasped  Chris,  forgetful  of  the  possi- 
bility, nay,  the  probability,  that  what  to  him  Avas  dire 
misfortune  might  be  to  this  man  a  very  different  thing. 
"  It  is  treachery,  murder  !  a  train  is  due  ;  they  have 
raised  the  drawbridge.     Look  !  and  let  me  pass." 

The  drawbridge  !  Half  a  dozen  worshippers  grouped 
about  the  plinth  heard  the  words  and  looked  bridge- 
wards  ;  so  did  the  Swami,  and  seized  his  advantage. 

"  Take  thy  shoes  from  off  thy  feet,  Krishn  Dave- 
nund,"  he  called  in  a  louder  voice,  "and  vow  the  vow 
first !  " 

The  circling  priests  within  paused  at  the  sound,  and 
crowded  to  the  temple  door;  the  scattered  worshippers, 
curious  at  the  strange  sight,  closed  in  round  the  figure 
in  the  frock-coat,  the  figure  in  the  saffron-shirt. 

Yet  there  was  something  stranger  to  come.  For 
from  within,  pushed  to  the  front  at  a  sign  from  the 
Swami,  came  two  more  figures :  a  widow,  her  face  hid- 
den in  her  white  shroud,  a  slender  slip  of  a  girl  with 
hers  hidden  in  her  bridal  scarlet. 

Chris  fell  back  from  the  sight  with  a  cry. 

"  Choose  quick,    Krishn  !  " 

Choose !  How  could  he  choose,  when  behind  those 
shrinking  figures  which  meant  so  much  to  him,  he  could 
see  that  which,  in  a  way,  meant  more.  For,  hidden  in 
the  arched  shadows  of  the  temple,  wafted  to  him  in  the 
perfume  of  incense  and  fading  flowers  —  yes!  symbol- 
ised even  in  the  red-armed  idol  —  was  the  great  Mystery 


THE  SOVEREIGNTY  OF  AIR  377 

of  Right  and  Wrong,  Higher  and  Lower,  which  had 
haunted  him  all  his  life.  It  was  years  since  he  had 
stood  so  close  to  these  eastern  expressions  of  a  world-wide 
thought,  and  the  old  awe  came  back  to  him  at  the  sight. 

Choose !  How  could  he  choose  between  old  and  new 
—  even  between  Viva  and  Naraini;  were  they  not  the 
same  }  were  they  not  both  — 

"Now  then,  guv'nor!  wot 'ave  you  lost  this  time?" 
came  a  cheerful  voice,  and  with  it  the  sound  of  shod 
feet  running  down  the  steps.  "  You  jes'  put  a  name  to 
wot  you  want  done,  an'  I'm  blamed  if  the  best  Ai  cop- 
per-bottomed as  ever  was  'all-marked  —  " 

Jan-Ali-shan  paused,  for  Chris,  with  another  cry — a 
cry  that  had  a  ring  of  appeal  in  it  like  a  lost  child's  — 
had  caught  at  the  newcomer's  hand  desperately,  while 
he  pointed  with  his  other  to  the  gap. 

"  The  bridge  !  "  he  cried  in  frantic  haste.  "  Look  !  the 
gang,  the  Kiizais  have  got  at  it;  there  is  a  train  sig- 
nalled; a  train  —  " 

He  was  going  on,  but  that  was  enough  for  Jan-Ali- 
shan.  More  than  enough.  He  had  wrenched  his  hand 
away,  turned  to  look  for  some  weapon,  and  found  one. 
Found  it  in  the  soda-water  bottle  closely  netted  round 
with  twine,  prolonged  into  a  cord  handle,  which  pilgrims 
carry  so  often,  and  which  hung  on  the  wrist  of  one  close 
by  him. 

The  next  instant  it  was  whirling — a  veritable  death- 
dealer  —  round  his  head,  as  he  dashed  forward  among 
the  little  knot  of  people  outside  the  temple,  and  the 
whole  strength  of  his  splendid  voice  rose  echoing  over 
the  steps  in  a  triumphant  chant  — 

'■'  I  was  not  born  as  thousands  are." 

There  was  a  free  path  so  far  — 

"  Where  God  was  never  known." 

He  paused  here  in  the  narrow  entry  to  say,  "Stand 
back,  my  darlin's,  we  ain't  got  no  quarrel  with  you"; 
and  then,  facing  the  priests  inside,  to  call  back  — 


378  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

"  Now  for  it,  sir !  use  your  fists  on  the  Ram-rammers  if 
they  tries  to  stop  yer!  " 

"  And  taught  to  pray  a  useless  prayer." 

The  words  were  broken  a  bit  by  blows,  an  oath  or  two, 
yells  and  desperate  scuffling,  until  —  breathless  but  con- 
tinuous —  the  chant  rose  again  among  the  shadows  and 
the  incense  — 

"  To  blocks  of  wood  and  stone  !  " 

Here  Jan-Ali-shan,  clear  of  all  his  adversaries,  save 
the  Swami,  who  stood  with  upraised  hands  barring  the 
way  before  the  image  of  Mai  Kali,  pushed  the  former 
aside  and  aimed  a  passing  swing  at  the  latter. 

The  crash  of  a  fall  mingled  with  his  gay  "  Yoicks 
forre'd  !  gone  away  !  gone  away  !  "  and  the  next  moment, 
closely  followed  by  Chris,  he  was  through  the  temple 
and  waist  deep  in  the  water  beyond. 

"Mum's  the  word  now,  sir!"  he  whispered,  when  — 
after  having  given  Chris  a  heft  up  to  the  lowermost 
rung  of  the  iron  ladder,  which  hung  on  the  pier  —  he 
swung  himself  up  by  sheer  strength,  and  then  paused 
for  breath.     "  How  many  on  them  are  there,  I  wonder } " 

"  Not  more  than  four  or  five,"  whispered  Chris  as  he 
climbed.  The  man  behind  him  made  no  answer,  but 
Chris  could  hear  him  mutter  the  old  complaint  —  "It 
don't  give  a  fellow  a  chanst — it  don't,  really." 

So,  stealthily,  they  were  on  the  bridge  in  the  rear  of 
the  tower. 

"  Like  a  thief  in  the  night,  sir,"  whispered  Jan-Ali- 
shan  approvingly.  "  Of  that  day  an'  hour,  as  it  say  in 
'Oly  Writ  —  that's  the  ticket.  An'  you  lay  a  holt  on 
somethin'  'andy,  sir;  even  a  broken  brick's  better  nor 
trustin'  to  Providence  —  there's  a  biggish  bit  on  the 
track,  sir.  An'  —  an'  don't  waste  time  killin' ;  it's  the 
bridge  we  want,  not  the  butchers.     Now  for  it!  " 

Were  there  four  or  five  of  them,  or  fifty,  in  the  almost 
pitch  darkness  of  the  little  inner  room.-*      Chris  never 


THE  SOVEREIGNTY  OF  AIR  379 

knew.  It  was  a  confused  struggle,  short,  sharp,  silent ; 
till,  suddenly,  John  Ellison's  voice  called  — 

"That'll  do,  sir!  I've  bagged  three  on  'em,  and 
can't  find  no  more.     Now  to  business  !  " 

He  was  out  as  he  spoke  in  the  dim  light  to  lay  his 
ear  to  the  rails.  And  as  he  listened,  he  smiled  to  see  a 
couple  of  figures  scudding  for  bare  life  along  the  single 
rails  as  only  coolies  can  do,  in  hope  of  shelter  from  the 
coming  train  in  the  safety,  half-way  across  the  bridge. 

"  'Ave  to  be  nippy,  my  sons,"  he  remarked  affably  as 
he  rose,  more  leisurely,  and,  from  habit,  dusted  the 
knees  of  his  trousers  as  he  turned  to  look  station- 
wards. 

But  what  he  saw  there  made  him  stop  the  dusting 
and  swear  under  his  breath. 

A  little  crowd  had  gathered  on  the  further  side  of  the 
gap ;  a  hostile  crowd  armed  with  sticks  and  stones. 
And  with  more ! 

For  a  bullet  whizzed  past  between  him  and  Chris, 
who  had  followed  him  out,  and  the  sharp  report  of  a 
rifle  roused  the  echoes  of  the  city  wall ;  and  roused, 
also,  a  sudden  sense  of  strain,  of  anxiety,  in  thousands 
within  the  wall ;  thousands  till  then  ignorant  that  dis- 
turbance was  in  the  air,  or  at  least  that  it  could  come  so 
soon! 

Even  on  the  turret,  amid  the  schemers  and  plotters 
ready  —  perhaps  inevitably  —  to  fall  in  with  any  quar- 
rel, this  was  so;  for  something  else  had  been  in  the  air, 
absorbing  the  attention.  Some  of  those  there  had 
remarked,  it  is  true,  on  the  raising  of  the  drawbridge, 
but  others  had  been  ready  to  tell  of  the  day,  not  long 
ago,  when  it  had  been  so  raised  and  lowered  many  times 
without  cause,  and  without  result. 

So  the  attention  of  all  had  reverted  to  the  two  kites 
which  now  remained  overhead  among  the  faint  stars. 
They  were  Jehan's  and — since  little  Sa'adut  had  re- 
signed his  claim  —  that  of  the  next  Heir  to  All  Things 
or  Nothingness ;  a  coincidence  which,  by  its  hint  of 
fatefulness,  had  kept  interest  keener  than  usual.     Even 


380  VOICES  IN  THE  NIGHT 

Lateefa,  beside  his  balloon-like  bundle  of  the  van- 
quished, was  beginning  to  wonder  if  Aunt  Khojee  had 
been  true  prophet,  and  Jehan's  Creator  meant  to  give 
him  back  his  honour? 

But  at  that  rifle  shot,  all  else  was  forgotten  and  all 
crowded  to  the  parapet. 

"Back,  sir!  back!"  shouted  Jan-Ali-shan,  roused 
beyond  silence,  as  he  grasped  a  fresh  danger;  and  the 
crowd,  recognising  the  new  turn  of  affairs,  broke  silence 
also  in  a  deep-toned  murmur,  on  which  a  shriller  sound 
rose  sharply  —  the  distant  whistle  of  an  engine.  And 
Chris,  as  he  dashed  back  to  shelter,  felt  a  faint  quiver 
in  the  linked  ribbon  of  steel  beneath  his  feet. 

"She's  on  the  bridge,  sir!  "  said  Jan-Ali-shan  —  there 
was  breathless  hurry  in  his  voice,  but  absolute  certainty, 
as  he  felt  hurriedly  in  his  pocket  for  a  match  —  "but 
we  must  wait  a  bit:  if  we  looses  off  till  the  last  minute, 
them  Kusseyes'll  swarm  over.  Oh!  jes'  wait  till  I  gets 
a  holt  of  them  —  sneakin'  cold  chisels  won't  be  in  this 
job!"  He  had  the  match  lit,  his  watch  out.  " 'Arf  a 
minute  gone,  say,  an'  it  takes  a  cool  four  minute  on  the 
bridge  slowin'  her  off,  an'  she"  —  he  laid  his  hand  on  the 
lever  crank  of  the  hydraulic  lift — "kin  do  it  in  fifty 
seconds;  two  and  a  'arf  left,  say,  for  it  won't  do  to 
miss  the  train  this  journey — but  you  look  'ere,  sir  — 
you  give  the  time  —  creep  round  to  the  back  and  keep 
your  h'eye  on  the  distance-signal  —  when  she  falls  sing 
out,  and  I'll" — he  clasped  the  crank  tighter  —  "do 
Sandow !  And,"  he  added  to  himself  as  Chris  dis- 
appeared, "you  can  talk  your  ikbally  rot  all  you  know, 
to-night,  you  can,  you  fools !  for  it  won't  come  up  to 
sample  —  no!  it  won't." 

Then,  as  if  the  reminiscence  had  brought  another 
with  it,  he  began  softly  on  the  song  which  he  had  sung 
that  day  on  the  bridge.  The  song  of  surplice-choir 
days.  He  had  learned  it  with  an  organ  accompani- 
ment ;  and  a  sound  was  to  be  heard  now,  growing  louder 
and  louder,  that  Kke  a  deep  organ  note  seemed  to  set 
the   whole   world   a-quivering,    even   the   very   ground 


THE  SOVEREIGNTY  OF  AIR  38 1 

beneath  his  feet  —  a  rumble  and  a  roar,  with  a  rhyth- 
mic pulse  in  it. 

"They  are  trying  to  get  a  rope  over,"  shouted  Chris. 
"  In  two  places  —  from  the  bastion  as  well." 

Jan-Ali-shan's  hand  left  the  crank  for  a  second.  He 
was  out  at  the  door  looking,  not  citywards,  but  bridge- 
wards.  And  then  he  laughed,  laughed  in  the  very  face 
of  a  monstrous  form  with  red  eyes  and  a  flaming  mane 
coming  steadily  at  him. 

"  They'll  'ave  to  be  nippier  than  they  is  general,"  he 
called  back,  his  hand  once  more  waiting  for  its  task,  as 
he  continued  his  song  — 

"Trees  where  you  sit  — 
Shall  crowd  into  a  sha — a — a —  " 

The  dainty  little  runs,  mellow,  perfect,  paused  when  the 
wire  connecting  the  distance-signal  with  the  station 
thrilled  like  a  fiddle-string  as  the  signal  fell,  and  Chris 
Davenant's  "  Now  !  "  followed  sharply,  but  they  went 
on  again  in  the  darkness,  backed  by  that  growing  rum- 
ble and  roar. 

"  Is  it  working  .-*  I  can't  hear  the  water  !  My  God  ! 
if  it  isn't  —  what  is  to  be  done  .''  " 

The  brown  hand  that  had  found  a  place  on  the  crank 
also  trembled  against  the  white  one. 

"  Do .''  We  done  our  best,  sir ;  an'  she's  a  lydy,  so 
the  odds  is  fair  — 

"  aa — a — a — aa — a — 
Trees  whe — re  you  —  sit,  shall  crowd  into — o  —  a — shade." 

Done  our  best !  The  words,  blending  with  the  tender 
triumph  of  those  final  bars,  were  in  Chris  Davenant's 
ears  but  a  few  seconds,  yet  they  brought  a  strange 
dreamy  content  with  them,  till  Jan-Ali-shan,  almost 
before  the  last  note  he  had  learned  in  his  white-robed 
days  ended,  burst  into  a  regular  yell  of  relief,  as  the 
resistance  on  the  crank  lessened,  ceased. 

"  She's  down,  or  nigh  it !  Now  for  the  fun,  and  the 
fightin',  sir  !    Now  to  see  them  blamed  Kusseyes  !  " 


382  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

Clear  of  the  clamour  of  confined  sound  in  the  little 
room,  his  voice  rose  in  a  laugh,  as,  to  gain  a  standpoint 
on  the  wider  ledge  beyond  the  archway,  he  dashed, 
followed  by  Chris,  right  in  front  of  the  thundering 
engine,  which  was  already  so  close,  that  the  glare  of  its 
red  eyes  shone  full  on  their  reckless  figures,  as  the 
scream  of  the  danger-whistle  rang  out  shrill  and  sharp. 

Not  in  warning  to  them  only.  Not  even  to  the  crowd 
in  front ;  tJiat  had  parted,  as  it  were,  mechanically,  leav- 
ing the  steel-edged  ribbon  of  rail  in  its  midst,  clear  to 
the  station.  It  was  for  the  long  links  of  carriages 
behind,  out  of  which  heads  were  already  craning  to 
catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  fun  and  the  fighting  to 
which  they  had  been  summoned  so  hastily. 

For  there  was  danger  ahead  to  every  one  behind. 
The  girders  of  the  drawbridge  were  still  slightly  aslant ; 
they  had  barely  closed  into  the  sockets,  and  beside  these 
a  group  of  half-naked  figures  were  busy. 

Over  what }  Jan-Ali-shan  guessed  in  a  second  that 
they  were  trying  to  prevent  a  further  closing,  they  were 
trying  to  derail  the  train,  and  he  was  off  like  an  arrow 
across  the  narrow  bridge,  hidden  by  the  clouds  of  steam 
that  rose  in  an  instant  from  the  curbed  monster,  as  the 
brakes,  the  valves,  were  jammed  home  hard  in  the  effort 
to  stop  it. 

Chris  could  not  understand  the  cry  that  came  back 
through  the  steam  —  "  Drop  it,  you  devils  !  them's  my 
cold  chisels";  but,  as  ever,  he  followed  on  the  other's 
heels,  half-scalded,  half-deafened  ;  followed  blindly  until 
in  the  clearer  air  beyond  —  as  yet !  —  that  snorting,  slid- 
ing, resistless  fate  behind  him,  he  saw  that  the  group 
about  the  sockets  had  scattered  at  the  mere  sight  of 
that  reckless  onslaught. 

All  but  one  figure  —  the  figure  of  the  biggest  bully  of 
the  butchers'  gang,  Jan-Ali-shan's  sworn  foe  —  that, 
with  a  yell  of  absolute  hate,  had  run  out  as  recklessly  to 
bar  the  way. 

Jan-Ali-shan  gave  a  shout  as  he  closed  with  it,  for 
the  m'^n  wTs  ^  ■p'^tprl  wre'^tler  —  "None  o'  ver  buttin's 
and  booin's;  fight  sccda,  or  it  ain't  —  " 


THE   SOVEREIGNTY   OF  AIR  383 

There  was  no  time  for  more  words,  since  this  was  no 
place  for  a  wrestHng  match  —  this  narrow  platform 
with  the  river  below  it,  and  scarcely  room  upon  it  for 
a  man  with  steady  nerves  to  stand  slim  and  let  a  fierce 
shadow  with  a  screaming  voice  pass  in  a  roar  and  a 
rattle. 

And  such  a  fierce  shadow  half-hidden  in  the  steam 
fog  was  sliding  on,  battling  against  the  curb,  thunder- 
ing, shaking  the  track  with  brakes  down  !  So  close  ! 
Dear  God  !  so  close  ! 

Chris  gave  a  desperate  cry  of  fear  and  courage  —  but 
was  beside  those  two. 

And  so  was  the  red  glare  of  the  angry  eyes  seen 
through  the  steam  clouds ;  so  was  the  scream  of  the 
whistle  heard  above  the  roar  and  the  rattle. 

"  Now  then,  sir,  heave  ! 

"  Yo-ho  —  yo-ho,  ho  !  yo-ho,  ho  !  " 

The  engine  driver,  craning  from  his  cab,  heard  so 
much  beyond  that  fog  of  steam.  The  officers  in  the 
first  carriage  heard  a  brief  — 

"  Keep  your  head,  sir,  and  git  a  holt  of  me." 

Only  those  voices ;  no  more.  Then  everything  was 
lost  in  an  awful  grating  sound  —  a  sound  of  iron  grind- 
ing iron  to  powder  —  a  jerk,  a  wrench,  a  dislocation;  a 
shock  that  shook  the  very  air  and  made  the  very  water 
in  the  river  ebb  and  flow  as  the  piers,  the  retaining-wall, 
quivered  to  their  foundations. 

But  the  next  instant  the  rocking  engine  recovered  its 
smooth  slide,  and  the  carriages  were  sliding  after  it 
over  the  girders  it  had  jammed  home  —  sliding  on  to 
the  station,  to  safety,  to  the  fun  and  the  fighting ! 

And  yet  a  yell  of  horror  rose  from  the  watching 
crowd.  Not  because  the  onward  sliding  which  left 
the  bridge  free  of  steam  clouds  left  it  free  also  of  all 
trace  of  those  wrestling  figures.  That  was  only  to  be 
expected,  since,  if  they  had  not  fallen  victims  to  the 
steam-devil,  the  water  must  have  claimed  them. 

It  was  because  the  river  was  claiming  something  else, 


384  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

and  the  bastion,  cracked  so  long,  had  yielded  to  its 
importunity  at  last  —  yielded  perhaps  to  the  shock, 
perhaps  to  that  reckless  rush  of  spectators  to  one  side, 
perhaps  to  fate !  And  with  a  silence,  awful  in  compar- 
ison with  the  clamour  around  it,  it  was  sliding  outwards, 
downwards.  Sliding  so  slowly  that  it  was  well  on  its 
way  ere  an  answering  yell  of  terror  rose  from  the 
figures  upon  it.  Sliding  so  softly  —  brick  holding  fast 
to  brick  —  that  the  final  rending  was  almost  unheard  in 
the  sound  of  hissing  water  closing  in  on  water. 

So,  for  an  instant,  nothing  remained  except  two  kites 
whirling  distractedly  at  the  swift  downpull  on  their 
strings,  until,  giving  up  the  battle,  giving  in  to  fate, 
they  yielded  the  Sovereignty  of  Air  and  sank  slowly 
into  the  river. 

By  this  time,  however,  some  of  the  claimants  to  that 
sovereignty  had  come  to  the  surface  again,  shrieking 
for  help  and  reaching  round  for  anything  to  support 
them. 

Lateefa,  luckily  for  him,  found  that  bundle  of  the 
vanquished  close  to  his  hand,  and  managed  with  its 
help  to  get  a  grip  upon  a  jag  of  wall.  Luckily,  for 
something  had  struck  him  on  the  back  as  he  went 
down. 

But  there  was  no  sign  of  Jehan  or  Burkut  Ali ;  no 
sign  even  of  those  other  two  whom  the  river  had 
claimed. 

And  none  came  to  seek  for  one ;  for  none  knew 
rightly  what  had  happened  or  who  the  bridge-savers 
had  been,  save  the  bridge-wreckers,  and  they  had  fled. 
Most  of  the  crowd,  therefore,  drifted  back  to  the  station 
or  the  city.  The  station  that  was  full  of  the  rattle  of 
rifles  being  shouldered,  of  the  tramp  of  feet  falling  into 
line. 

"  How  on  earth  you  got  here  so  soon,  I  can't  think," 
said  a  police-officer  who  had  ridden  up  in  hot  haste  at 
the  news  of  some  disturbance  on  the  bathing-steps. 
"The  up-mail.!'  By  Jove!  what  luck!  It  will  settle 
the  whole  'biz,'  I  expect." 


THE  SOVEREIGNTY  OF  AIR  385 

And  in  the  city  voices  were  saying  much  the  same 
thing. 

If  the  troops  were  there,  ready  for  the  iirst  sign, 
what  was  the  use  of  making  it  ?  Let  the  rabble  rise  if 
they  chose.  Let  fools  commit  themselves.  Wise  men 
would  wait  a  better  opportunity. 


2C 


CHAPTER   XXV 


SECRET    DESPATCHES 


NusHAPORE,  however,  was  not  all  wise  ;  very  far  from 
it.  Out  of  its  two  hundred  and  odd  thousand  souls, 
there  were  some  to  whom  the  possibility  of  disturbances 
meant  a  long-looked-for  opportunity  of  indulging  —  with 
comparative  safety  —  in  criminal  habits.  And  there 
were  many  also,  who,  without  any  special  desire  for 
evil,  regretted  the  diminishing  chance  of  a  night's 
excitement  and  amusement. 

At  first  some  of  these  found  solace  in  the  catastrophe 
at  the  kite-flyers'  bastion ;  though,  after  a  time,  this 
proved  to  be  less  disastrous  than  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, for,  out  of  all  those  who  were  known  to  have 
been  on  the  building,  only  two  or  three  were  even  injured. 
Jehan  Aziz,  it  is  true,  had  disappeared,  but  even  in  the 
first  knowledge  of  this,  the  fact  brought  scarcely  a  word 
of  regret  —  especially  in  the  Royal  Family.  It  felt 
vaguely  that  it  stood  a  better  chance  without  him,  even 
though  the  next  heir  was  not  close  enough  to  that  dead 
dynasty  to  hope  for  the  practical  recognition  of  an 
increased  pension  from  Government ! 

Neither  did  the  sight  of  Burkut  Ali  being  carried  off 
to  hospital  on  a  stretcher  distress  it  much.  But  it  had 
a  word  or  two  of  encouragement  and  sympathy  for 
Lateefa  who,  still  clinging  to  his  kites,  refused  all  help 
as  he  sat  propped  against  a  wall  waiting  for  the  numb- 
ness to  pass  from  his  legs  —  as  it  must  pass,  since  he  had 
no  pain. 

Of  Jan-Ali-shan  and  Chris  no  one  thought  on  that  side 
of  the  bridge ;  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  disaster  to 
the  bastion  absorbed  all  tongues  for  a  time,  and,  in  addi- 

^86 


SECRET  DESPATCHES  387 

tion,  beyond  the  fact  that  there  had  been  some  fighting 
for  the  bridge,  no  one  knew  anything. 

In  the  station,  also,  there  was  no  one  to  explain  what 
had  happened.  The  baboo,  who  might  have  told  what  he 
knew,  had,  in  that  interval  of  suspense,  discreetly  fled 
to  his  lodgings  in  the  city,  where  he  was  trying  to  con- 
coct alibis. 

It  was  only  on  the  bathing-steps  that  anything  definite 
was  known,  and  there  a  curious  consternation  had  fol- 
lowed immediately  on  the  rapid  raid  made  by  those  two 
through  the  temple.  For,  when  the  brief  tumult  of  re- 
sistance had  passed  with  their  passage,  the  only  trace  of 
it  that  remained  was  fateful,  beyond  words,  to  the 
superstitious  eyes  which  saw  it. 

Swami  Viseshwar  Nath,  the  high  priest  of  ShivyV^, 
lay  with  crushed  skull  on  Mai  Kali's  very  lap !  His 
blood  was  pouring  out  upon  her  altar ;  yet,  despite  the 
blow  which  all  had  seen,  despite  the  crash  which  all  had 
heard,  not  one  of  her  many  widespread  arms  was  injured  ! 

Here  was  a  miracle  indeed  !  For  what  had  been  her 
words  on  that  golden  paper  which  she  had  flung,  in  de- 
fiance as  it  were,  into  the  temple  of  her  rival .'' 

"  Yea  !  thotigJi  they  smite  vie,  there  shall  be  Blood  upon 
Mine  Altar r 

And  there  was.  The  blood  of  the  arch-detractor  of 
Her  Supremacy. 

A  miracle  indeed  !  to  be  affirmed  or  denied  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  all  other  thoughts. 

And  so,  on  those  wide  steps  leading  down  to  the 
river,  the  newcomers,  hastening  thither  at  vague  ru- 
mours of  strange  doings  —  stranger  even  than  fixed  bay- 
onets at  the  city  gates  —  were  caught  in  the  conflict  of 
opinions  and  held  captive  by  the  question  — 

"  Would  Mai  Kali  stay  the  plague  now,  as  She  had 
promised  to  do  when  there  was  blood  on  Her  altars,  or 
would  She  not }  " 

In  other  words,  dare  men  —  mere  men  —  take  the 
remedy  into  their  own  hands,  and  risk  offending  the 
Great  Goddess  by  lack  of  faith  ? 


388  VOICES  IN    THE  NIGHT 

Would  it  not  be  better  to  wait  a  bit  and  see  what  hap- 
pened ?  So,  coming  and  going  on  the  steps  —  coming 
in  fierce  haste,  going  in  awestruck  doubt  —  men  asked 
themselves  if  their  part  was  to  wait  and  watch.  But,  in- 
side the  temple,  two  poor  souls  crouched  in  a  corner  knew 
what  their  part  as  women  must  be  ;  and  therefore,  after 
a  time  of  fruitless  waiting,  they  stole  out  hand-in-hand 
and  went  back  to  the  city,  back  to  their  empty  house, 
realising  but  one  thing  :  that  the  stray  sheep  which  had 
been  lost  and  found,  had  gone  astray  once  more  ;  had 
defied  the  priests,  perhaps  killed  his  guru. 

And  they  had  left  that  house  empty  with  such  joy, 
believing  they  were  to  bring  their  dear  one  back  to  it ! 
And  now,  to  whom  were  they  to  go  for  advice ;  for 
weddings  and  burials  —  since  such  things  must  be  —  if 
Viseshwar  Nath  was  dead  ?  Viseshwar,  who  had  known 
all  things  concerning  the  family  ?  So  they  wept,  not 
knowing  that  his  death  made  future  happiness  for  one 
of  them  possible. 

The  city  itself  was  by  this  time  like  a  hive  of  bees 
about  to  swarm,  which  is  disturbed  by  a  finger-touch. 
People  hurried  hither  and  thither  causelessly ;  excited, 
anxious,  yet  harmless ;  for  those  who  had  meant  to  give 
the  cue  for  action  hung  back  at  the  sight  of  the  soldiers. 
Yet  many  of  these  would-be  mischief-makers  had  not 
quite  given  up  hope,  and  their  unwillingness  to  do  so, 
strangely  enough,  was  in  inverse  ratio  to  their  hope  of 
achieving  any  good  by  raising  a  riot.  For,  while  every 
minute  that  passed  showed  the  more  reasonable,  the 
more  interested,  that  wisdom  lay  in  postponement,  those 
who  had  very  little  stake  or  thought  in  the  matter 
beyond  a  general  desire  to  kick  over  the  traces,  grew 
more  and  more  desperate  as  the  opportunity  for  this 
seemed  to  be  slipping  from  them.  Govind  the  editor 
was  one  of  these,  and,  gravitating  naturally  to  his  like, 
found  himself  after  a  time  in  one  of  the  bands  of  dis- 
contents who  were  ready  for  any  trivial  mischief  that 
might  come  handy.  But  as  yet,  even  these  had  no 
objective. 


SECRET  DESPATCHES  389 

•  And  so,  after  all,  Jack  Raymond  had  time  for  a  late 
dinner.  And  he  ate  a  good  one  too,  in  ignorance  —  like 
every  one  else  except  a  few  of  the  would-be  train-wreck- 
ers who  discreetly  held  their  tongues  —  of  the  real 
history  of  the  drawbridge.  For  the  steam  fog  had 
effectually  hidden  all  the  heroism  of  that  struggle  for 
it.  Had  hidden  all  things  save  the  voices  in  the  fog ; 
save  that  almost  incredible  chanting  of  a  sailor's  chorus 
heard  by  the  engine-driver,  those  few  words,  "  Keep 
your  head,  sir,  and  take  a  holt  of  me,"  half  heard  by 
some  of  the  officers. 

And  Sir  George  Arbuthnot,  too,  ate  his  dinner  at  the 
club.  He  did  not  make  so  good  a  one,  however ;  and 
when  he  had  finished  it,  hurriedly,  he  paused  beside  the 
table  where  Jack  Raymond  was  finishing  his,  leisurely, 
to  say  with  rather  elaborate  point,  "  So  you  were  right 
after  all,  Mr.  Raymond!  —  and  —  and  I  was  wrong  — 
should,  I  expect,  have  been  still  more  wrong,  if  Kenyon 
had  not  insisted  on  telegraphing  to  Fareedabad."  He 
looked  as  he  spoke  at  the  Commissioner,  who  had  come 
in  for  a  mere  bite  and  sup. 

Jack  Raymond  rose,  feeling  that  he  liked  the  man 
better  than  he  had  ever  done  before ;  feeling  for  the 
first  time  that  he  was  glad  he  had  helped. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  about  the 
right  and  the  wrong.  I  happened  to  hear.  But  it  was 
uncommonly  lucky  the  troops  managed  to  nick  the  up- 
mail,  or  they  might  have  been  a  bit  late.  It  must  have 
been  a  near  shave!  " 

"  Very !  "  put  in  the  Commissioner  with  a  slightly 
puzzled  frown.  "  I  don't  know  exactly  how  the  deuce 
they  did  it,  but  that's  a  detail  for  the  present.  Now, 
sir,  if  you  will  write  that  note  to  relieve  Lady  Arbuth- 
not's  anxiety,  we  can  start  back  to  the  hospital  —  though 
really  there  is  no  necessity  for  it  —  the  danger  is  over." 

Jack  Raymond  shook  his  head.  "  Not  till  daylight  — 
it  never  is.  I  don't  mean  for  the  hospital.  If  nothing 
happens  at  midnight,  nothing  will ;  but  there  are  lots  of 
other  games  —  at  least  I  should  fancy  so,"     he  added 


390  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

as  he  sat  down  again,  resuming  his  dinner  and  his 
indifference. 

"  That  is  one  of  the  most  able  men  in  India ! " 
remarked  the  Commissioner  to  Sir  George;  "it  is  a 
thousand  pities  he  allowed  —  " 

And  then,  hurriedly,  he  changed  the  subject.  It 
would  have  been  less  significant  if  he  had  not  done  so, 
and  Sir  George  felt  inclined  to  ask  him  to  finish  the 
sentence.  But  even  that  defiance  would  have  been 
significant  in  its  turn,  so  he  gave  in  resignedly  to  the 
awkwardness  of  the  situation  —  for  he  could  not  help 
feeling  it  was  awkward  —  and  sat  down  to  write  his  note 
to  Grace  before  returning  to  the  city. 

She  had  been  hoping  for  some  message  all  the  even- 
ing, and  Lesley  realised  how  great  a  strain  the  waiting 
for  news  had  been  on  Lady  Arbuthnot's  nerves  when 
she  saw  the  sudden  relief  the  note  brought  with  it. 

Till  then  the  Sunday  dinner-party  had  been  unusually 
dull.  Now,  just  as  people  were  beginning  to  wonder  if 
they  had  not  ordered  their  carriage  to  come  a  trifle  late, 
a  new  life  seemed  to  spring  up.  The  hostess  herself 
started  music  by  going  to  the  piano,  and  as  she  did  so, 
she  found  time  for  a  whisper  to  Lesley  —  "  It's  all  right ! 
The  troops  caught  the  up-mail  and  came  back  in  it  — 
sharp  work,  wasn't  it .''  and  George  says  everything  is 
settling  down,  but  I  am  not  to  expect  him  home  till  one 
or  two.     Oh  !  I  feel  so  happy  !  " 

She  looked  it,  and  —  good  singer  as  she  was  —  she 
sang  as  few  had  ever  heard  her  sing.  Lesley  for  one, 
who  listened  to  the  quaint  little  French  cJiansoiis,  half- 
laughter  half-tears,  and  the  pretty,  comic-opera  trills  and 
runs  with  a  new  perception  of  the  woman  who  sang 
them  —  the  woman  who  was,  as  a  rule,  so  unlike  most 
of  her  sex  in  her  calm  intelligence. 

And  now .''  Now  every  man  in  the  room  was  crowd- 
ing round  the  piano.  She  was  holding  them  there  by 
something  that  was  not  beauty  or  intelligence,  not  by 
her  looks  or  her  singing,  but  by  the  woman's  desire  to 
have  and  hold  the  admiration  of  her  world  by  making  it 


SECRET  DESPATCHES  39 1 

depend  on  her  for  pleasure  —  the  desire  which  made 
Eve  share  her  apple  with  Adam  ! 

Yes  !  that  was  it !  The  woman's  desire  to  have  and 
to  hold  for  herself  alone. 

But  while  the  dinner-party  at  Government  House  had 
taken  a  fresh  lease  of  life  under  Grace  Arbuthnot's 
guidance,  there  was  another  dinner-party  going  on  in 
Nushapore,  where  the  good  wine  of  high  spirits  had 
come  first  and  the  ditch-water  of  dulness  last.  This  was 
at  Mr.  Lucanaster's ;  and  it  had  been  the  probabiUty 
of  being  late  for  this  —  a  supreme  effort  on  his  part 
towards  something  pre-eminently  jolly  —  which  had 
made  him  sulky  at  being  delayed  by  the  "  memora- 
ble occasion."  For,  to  begin  with,  more  time  would 
be  required  for  dressing  than  usual,  since  the  party 
was  to  be  a  ircliaiijfe  of  the  Mutiny  Lancers.  It 
was  to  be  a  Mutiny  dinner;  and  for  the  first  time  Mrs. 
Chris  had  consented  to  act  as  hostess  and  sit  at  the  top 
of  Mr.  Lucanaster's  table ;  Mrs.  Chris  in  that  bewilder- 
ing costume  of  pink  roses  and  white  shoulders. 

And  everything  had  been  perfect.  The  dinner  worthy 
of  a  cJief,  the  champagne  iced  enough  to  cool  the  tongue, 
not  enough  to  lessen  its  sparkle.  And  yet,  at  eleven 
o'clock,  the  guests  were  beginning  to  leave.  At  half- 
past,  Mrs.  Chris  —  there  was  no  mistake  in  her  costume 
either  —  was  eyeing  Mr.  Lucanaster  with  the  amused 
superiority  to  the  trivialities  of  sentiment  or  passion  which 
—  as  she  had  always  told  poor  Chris  —  made  her  abso- 
lutely capable  of  taking  care  of  herself  in  any  situation. 

"  No  thanks  !  I  don't  want  another  cigarette,  and  I'd 
rather  not  have  a  cherry-brandy  before  I  go  back ;  but 
you  can  tell  the  bearer  to  tell  my  ayah  to  bring  my  cloak 
and  overshoes  in  here.     I  told  her  to  come  and  wait." 

Mr.  Lucanaster  swore  under  his  breath. 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  think  it  was  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  she 
continued  cheerfully,  ignoring  the  palpable  cause  of  his 
annoyance.  "  It  really  was  quite  jolly  at  first,  and 
nothing  could  have  been  better  done.  It  was  that  Httle 
fool  Jones  with  his  cock-and-bull  story  of  a  row  in  the 


392  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

city ;  and  then  the  dresses,  you  know,  made  one  a  bit 
shivery,  thinking  of  the  Mutiny.  It  did  —  even  me  — 
and  I'm  not  that  sort.  But  you  couldn't  help  that,  you 
know  —  your  part  of  it  was  perfect." 

He  looked  at  her  grimly,  his  determination  not  to  be 
played  with  in  this  fashion  growing. 

"  Not  quite  !  "  he  answered.  "  There  was  yet  one  thing 
lacking ;  one  thing  that  I  had  meant  to  have  secured  — 
only  I  could  not  —  you  were  so  late  in  coming." 

"  I .''  "  she  asked  curiously.  "  Was  it  something  to  do 
with  me,  then  .-'  " 

"With  the  perfection  of  your  dress  —  it  needs  some- 
thing ! " 

She  coloured  up  pink  as  her  roses,  and  gave  a  hurried 
glance  at  a  mirror  opposite.  "  I  do  not  see  it,"  she  said 
angrily. 

"  Yes,  you  do !  "  he  persisted,  looking  in  the  mirror 
also.  "  There  is  something  wanted  here."  He  pointed 
to  her  white  throat,  and  in  the  mirror  his  hand  pointed 
to  it  also. 

"  Ah'h,"  she  sighed  thoughtfully.  —  "  Yes !  pearls  — 
but  I  had  no  real  ones.  And  —  and  I  can  stand  paste  — 
but  somehow  sham  pearls  —  " 

"  No  !  not  pearls  !  No  !  never  !  Not  milk-and-water 
pearls!"  he  protested.  "Not  with  roses  there"  —  he 
pointed  to  the  glistening  shoulders  —  "and  roses  there" 
—  the  hand  in  the  mirror  seemed  almost  to  touch  the 
glistening  hair.  —  "  It  should  be  roses  here.  And  — 
and  I  had  some  pink  topazes  — a  bagatelle  —  you  might 
have  bought  them  from  me  if  you  would  not  take  them 
as  a  gift.  Bah  !  a  trifle !  — just  drops  of  pink  dew 
hanging  from  a  fine  gold  chain  —  " 

Her  hard  blue  eyes  grew  covetous ;  she  drew  in  her 
breath.  "  Drops  of  pink  dew  hanging  from  a  fine  gold 
chain!  —  How  —  how  perfectly  delicious!  And  cheap 
too  —  oh!  do  let  me  see  them." 

"  Why  not,  madame }  Are  they  not  in  my  office 
room;  but"  —  he  looked  at  her  and  laughed  —  "will 
you  not  smoke  ojie  cigarette  while  you  inspect  them  .'' " 


SECRET  DESPATCHES  393 

She  looked  at  him  sharply  in  her  turn,  then  laughed 
too.  He  had  been  clever !  She  rather  admired  him 
for  it ;  though,  if  he  thought  he  had  gained  any  advan- 
tage, he  was  mistaken. 

"Why  not,  monsieur.?"  she  answered,  coolly  helping 
herself  from  the  box.  "  As  I  have  to  see  the  topazes, 
I  may  as  well  smoke  while  you  are  fetching  them." 

She  threw  herself  into  an  armchair  and  nodded  at 
him.  But  when  the  pink  topazes  came,  as  they  did 
come  to  her,  after  a  minute  or  two,  she  stood  up  again 
in  the  intensity  of  her  admiration.  There  were  other 
jewels  in  the  quaint  little  Indian  casket,  which,  with 
an  ill  grace,  he  had  brought  back  with  him  from  the 
office;  —  among  them  a  string  of  remarkably  fine  pearls 
—  but  she  never  even  looked  at  them.  The  topaz  dew- 
drops  absorbed  her.  He  had  been  right !  They  were 
the  one  thing  wanting. 

The  only  question  that  remained  was,  briefly,  how 
much  she  could  afford  to  give  for  them. 

As  she  stood  calculating,  as  only  women  of  her  type 
can  calculate,  Mr.  Lucanaster  watched  her  with  an  easy 
smile,  thinking  what  a  curious  hold  little  stones  —  which 
to  him  only  meant  so  much  money  —  had  upon  human- 
ity. There  was  a  ruby,  for  instance,  in  that  very  cas- 
ket, which  had  taken  him  three  years  to  wile  away 
from  a  minor  member  of  the  Royal  Family.  Then 
there  was  the  emerald 

A  sudden  sound  of  distant  voices  echoed  through  the 
stillness  of  the  night,  and  Mrs.  Chris  looked  up  from 
the  pink  dew,  startled. 

"  I  wonder  what  that  is .''  "  she  said,  pausing.  "  I 
wish  that  man  Jones  hadn't  told  his  foolish  tales.  He 
has  made  me  nervous,  quite  nervous." 

Mr.  Lucanaster  moved  a  step  nearer.  "  You  needn't 
be  afraid  with  me,  Jenny,"  he  said,  attempting  senti- 
ment, "  even  if  there  was  —  " 

He  got  no  further,  for  the  figure  of  a  very  old  native, 
withered,  bent,  dressed  (or  undressed)  in  the  nonde- 
script  garb    of   a    scullion,  showed   at   the   door,   then 


394  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

advanced  with  furtive  haste  and  equally  furtive  im- 
portance. 

"  K/iodaiviiud !'''  it  said,  toothlessly  and  with  joined 
hands.  "  It  is  about  to  come  again.  This  slave  saw 
it  then  —  in  '57.  He  was  kJicmsaman  then  to  Ricketts- 
sahib  baJiadur,  who  was  killed  —  " 

"  Curse  you  !  "  shouted  Mr.  Lucanaster,  "  what  the 
devil  —  .-• "  Then,  as  the  simplest  way  of  getting  at 
the  truth,  he  ran  into  the  verandah.  Every  servant 
had  disappeared  ;  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  sound 
that  came  clearer  now  —  it  was  the  sound  of  a  crowd, 
an  angry  crowd!  He  stood  irresolute  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  along  the  road  that  lay  between  his  house 
and  Chris  Davenant's,  he  saw  two  men  running  with 
torches. 

"There  is  thatch  to  both,"  called  one.  "We  will 
take  Jiis  first  —  he  who  spoilt  our  plan.  The  others 
will  settle  the  depraver  of  Kings'  Houses  !  " 

That  was  enough !  He  was  back  in  the  house  in  a 
second,  but  not  in  the  drawing-room.  In  his  office,  at 
the  safe  which  he  had  left  open  ! 

Meanwhile,  Viva,  alone  with  the  furtive  haste  and 
furtive  importance  which  had  seen  it  all  before,  stood 
paralysed  with  terror ;  stood  in  that  dress  of  the  year 
of  grace  1857,  feeling  as  if  that  past  had  claimed  her. 

But  it  //rt'f'/ claimed  the  old  anatomy  who  had  returned, 
in  his  old  age,  to  the  first  rung  of  the  ladder  whence  he 
had  climbed  to  that  dignity  of  "  khcmsdman  to  Ricketts- 
sahib  baJiadur  who  was  killed." 

They  had  come  back  to  him,  those  days  of  livery  and 
gold  lace  when  he  had  served  a  lady,  dressed  perhaps 
in  pink  tarlatan  !  They  had  come  back,  and  the  fur- 
tiveness  left  the  remnant  that  remained  of  that  dignity ; 
the  importance  returned.  "  But  the  viem  was  not  killed, 
Huzoor !  How  should  it  be  so  when  Mohubbut  Khan 
was  there !  Quick !  follow  me,  HuzoorJ  This  slave 
knows  where  safety  lies !  Has  he  not  seen  it  all 
before  ?  Quick,  Hitzoor,  quick !  The  vieiii-sahiba  is 
safe — quite  safe  if  *  she  follows  Mohubbut  Khan." 


SECRET  DESPATCHES  395 

Safe,  quite  safe !  Those  words  were  enough  for  this 
woman  in  her  pink  tarlatan,  whose  nerves,  such  as  they 
were,  had  been  juggled  with  by  that  same  pink  tarlatan! 
She  forgot  everything  else,  even  the  pink  dewdrops ! 

The  next  instant  she  was  out  —  as  many  a  viem-saJiiba 
had  been  out  in  that  fateful  May-time  more  than  forty 
years  before  —  with  no  guide  to  safety  but  a  native  ser- 
vant. And  this  was  no  servant  of  hers,  bound  to  her  by 
the  slender  tie  —  slender  in  the  West,  at  any  rate !  — 
of  personal  service.  Mohubbut  Khan  was  only  servant 
of  that  past — the  past  which  had  brought  him  nothing 
for  his  old  age  save  a  return  to  the  greasy  swab  and 
miserable  pittance  of  his  apprenticeship  to  service  ! 

Yet  as,  with  a  breathlessness  that  had  not  been  in  that 
midnight  flight  of  forty  years  ago,  he  headed  straight 
as  a  die  for  the  Garden  Mound,  he  prattled  cheerfully  of 
the  future  as  he  might  have  done  then. 

Let  the  mem-sahiba  stay  herself  on  the  Merciful  and 
Clement,  including,  of  course.  His  servant  Mohubbut ! 
As  for  the  master,  the  dkd-saJiib,  who,  perforce,  had  to 
think  of  more  than  mere  safety,  the  Merciful  and  Clem- 
ent had  him  in  his  keeping  also.  And  though  Mohub- 
but could  not,  unfortunately,  be  in  two  places  at  once, 
some  other  slave  would  doubtless  be  raised  up  ! 

There  was  no  fear ;  none !  Was  not  Jan-Ali-shan- 
sahib  —  he  pointed  into  the  night  —  there  to  be  reckoned 
with  still  ?  And  had  it  been  possible  during  that  nine 
long  months  for  any  black  face  —  even  Mohubbut's, 
which  had  remained  outside  after  he  had  put  the  vieni 
inside  —  to  win  in  to  the  Garden  Mound  .-' 

So,  hovering  between  past  and  present,  the  old  man 
who  had  been  ^^kJidnsdman  to  Ricketts-j'rt'/^/(^  bahadin^  \\ho 
was  killed,"  chattered  of  safety 

Until  the  Garden  Mound  was  reached,  and  then  — 

Then  he  stood  in  the  dim  moonlight — helpless  —  be- 
wildered —  importance  gone  !  For  where  was  safety, 
where  was  Jan-Ali-shan } 

Ruins,  and  flowers !  Only  one  thing  as  it  had  been 
forty  years  before. 


396  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

The  English  flag ! 

He  headed  straight  for  it  comforted,  the  importance 
returning.  "  The  mcm-saJiiba  need  have  no  fear,"  he 
muttered  glibly ;  "  was  not  Mohubbut  kJidnsduian  to 
Ricketts-j"(T///<5'  ba/iadur  w^ho  was  killed?  —  but  the  mem 
was  not.     Ah  !  no  !  " 

Yet,  once  more,  the  wide  ruined  doorways  of  the 
Residency  upset  the  unstable  balance  of  the  half-crazy 
old  man's  confidence.  But  only  for  a  moment.  The 
next,  he  had  lost  even  importance  in  quick  decision,  as 
the  sound  of  running  footsteps,  of  men's  voices,  rose 
against  the  background  of  faint  elusive  cries  and  distant 
disturbance  which  had  been  with  them,  fitfully,  in  their 
flight. 

"Quick,  Huzoor,  quick!  they  come!  Have  no  fear! 
The  mem  was  never  killed  !  yet  they  came  before !  " 

And  Viva,  tarlatan  in  ribbons,  almost  fainting  with 
fear,  followed  blindly ;  then  sank  behind  a  heap  of 
stones  that  lay  —  part  of  a  ruined  stair  —  in  the  lowest 
story  of  the  turret. 

Only  just  in  time ;  for  the  voices  were  close  at  hand, 
the  steps  upon  the  outside  stair  that  led  to  the  roof. 

"Lo!  we  can  do  so  much,  if  naught  else,"  came 
savagely:  "we  can  end  their  boast,  brothers!"  The 
voice  was  an  educated  one,  and  there  was  some  answer- 
ing laughs,  as  five  or  six  white  figures  passed  upwards. 

"  Have  no  fear,  mem-saJiiba  !  "  whispered  the  toothless 
comforter.     "  Jan-Ali-shan  will  settle  them^ 

Apparently  he  did ;  or  some  one  else  carrying  on  the 
tradition  of  the  dead  man  who  lay  in  the  Hollow  of 
Heroes ;  for  almost  ere  the  last  climber  could  have 
reached  the  top,  they  were  down  the  narrow  stairs  again 
helter  skelter. 

"Trra!"said  one  vexedly.  "To  think  they  should 
not  have  forgotten  that !  Truly  it  is  ill  doing  aught 
against  them,  and  they  so  wise !  Let  us  go  back  to  the 
city  —  there  be  plenty  of  fools  there." 

"  Said  I  not  so  .''  "  whispered  the  toothless  comforter 
triumphantly,  as  the  steps  died  away.     "  He  hath  sent 


SECRET  DESPATCHES  397 

them  forth  discomfited.  It  was  even  so  before,  when 
Mohubbut  was  khdnsdman  to  Ricketts-Jrt///*^  who  was 
killed  —  but  the  meut  was  not." 

Mrs.  Chris,  however,  was  past  comfort.  Had  they 
come  back  again  she  would  not  have  stirred ;  and  she 
sat  in  the  darkness  behind  the  heap  of  stones,  shudder- 
ing and  sobbing,  too  terrified  even  to  hear  that  monoto- 
nous refrain —  "  Have  no  fear  !     Have  no  fear  !  " 

They  are  idle  words  when  the  heart  is  full  of  fore- 
bodings. Grace  Arbuthnot  was  finding  them  so  but  a 
few  hundred  yards  away,  though  she  stood  calmly  say- 
ing them  to  herself. 

"  There  can  be  no  fear  !  "  she  said.  "  Why  should 
they  do  him  an  injury  .-'  " 

"Why,  indeed  .-'"  echoed  Sir  George  with  an  inward 
groan,  born  of  wider  experience  of  what  men  can  do  in 
such  times  as  these,  "  but  what  cati  have  become  of  the 
child  .? " 

He  had  returned  home  but  a  few  moments  before  — 
and  far  later  than  he  had  anticipated,  owing  to  a  raid 
which  had  been  made  on  Chris  Davenant's  and  Mr. 
Lucanaster's  bungalows,  which  had  ended  in  the  burn- 
ing of  both  —  to  find  the  whole  household  distracted. 

For  Jerry  had  disappeared;  he  was  not  to  be  found 
anywhere,  neither  was  his  Mohammedan  cJuiprassi,  nor 
his  Hindoo  bearer ;  both  men  who  worshipped  the 
child,  who  would  to  all  appearance  have  given  their 
lives  for  him. 

For  an  instant  Sir  George's  face  had  cleared  at  this 
information ;  but  it  had  clouded  again  at  the  utter 
incomprehensibility  of  the  whole  affair.  Lesley  had 
put  the  child  to  bed  before  she  had  gone  out  on  her 
cycle.  He  had  then  been  quite  happy,  and  was  to  play 
with  his  soldiers  on  "  The  Land  of  Counterpane "  till 
he  felt  sleepy.  That  was  the  last  that  had  been  seen  of 
him.  Needham,  the  maid,  who  worked  in  the  next  room, 
had  heard  no  disturbance.  She  had  been  in  and  out  of 
other  rooms,  naturally,  but  not  for  long.  Grace  had 
given  a  look  in  about  eight  o'clock,  had  seen  the  night- 


39S  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

light  burning  as  usual  —  a  little  dimmer,  perhaps  —  and, 
Jerry  not  having  called  to  her,  she  had  not  risked  dis- 
turbing him.  Then  had  come  the  dinner-party.  People 
had  stayed  late  ;  and  after  they  had  gone  she  and  Les- 
ley had  sat  up  talking,  expecting  every  instant  to  hear  Sir 
George  return  ;  —  growing  a  little  anxious  as  time  went 
on,  until,  about  half  an  hour  ago,  Captain  Lloyd  —  who 
had  gone  off  after  the  guests  had  left  to  see  what  news 
he  could  pick  up  —  had  come  back  with  such  good 
accounts,  that  Grace  had  sent  Lesley  to  her  bed. 

Then,  not  till  then,  the  child's  absence  was  discovered. 
How  long  he  had  been  absent,  none  could  tell,  for  the 
only  two  servants  likely  to  know,  the  two  who  never  left 
him  day  or  night,  were  gone  also. 

They  had  hunted  everywhere :  Nevill  Lloyd  had  run 
back  to  the  club  to  give  the  alarm  to  the  men  he  had 
left  there  a  few  minutes  before,  Grace  had  made  every 
inquiry  of  the  other  servants;  but,  she  suggested,  per- 
haps a  man  accustomed  to  cross-examining  native  wit- 
nesses might  get  some  clue  — 

"  There  is  nothing  else  to  be  done  for  the  moment," 
assented  Sir  George  briefly.  "  You  had  better  leave  me 
to  do  it,  Grace  —  if  you  are  here,  they  will  be  remem- 
bering what  they  said  to  youy 

So  Lesley  and  Grace  —  the  latter  still  repeating  those 
words  :  "  There  can  be  no  fear  !  Who  would  hurt  the 
child  .'*  Why  should  they  choose  him,  of  all  others  }  " 
—  went  and  waited  in  the  verandah  overlooking  the 
Garden  Mound,  for  the  first  hint  of  Nevill  Lloyd's 
return.  And  yet,  while  Grace  said  the  words,  she  was 
conscious  that  there  might  be  a  reason.  If  some  one 
wanted  to  force  their  hand  about  that  unlucky  letter  — 
the  letter  that  now  meant  the  worst,  since  the  troops 
liad  been  sent  for,  the  promise  of  no  coercion  broken  at 
the  very  beginning  ;  unavoidably  of  course,  yet  none  the 
less  disastrously,  if  that  letter  became  public  property. 

And  Lesley's  mind,  also,  was  not  without  its  sting  of 
remorse  added  to  its  anxiety,  as  she  stood  in  the  fast- 
lightening  dawn  looking  out  into  the  dim  shadows  for 


/v       SECRET  DESPATCHES  399 

hint  or  sign.  Ought  she  to  have  told  Grace  why  her 
cycle  ride  had  been  so  long?  Yet  tJiat  made  no  differ- 
ence to  this,  and  a  knowledge  of  the  truth  would  only 
take  from  Grace  a  belief  that  had  made  her  glad. 

No  !  she  could  not  tell  her  now  !  She  would  wait  till 
Jerry  returned  —  if  he  did  return  ! 

Oh  !  what  could  have  become  of  the  child  } 

"  Jerry  !  Jerry  !  "  she  called  almost  involuntarily,  and 
with  the  cry  came  back  a  memory  of  that  midnight 
chase  after  the  boy. 

And  with  that  came  the  thought  of  Jack  Raymond 
and  his  warning  — "  He  takes  it  too  hard,  dear  little 
chap."  She  laid  her  hand  quickly  on  Grace  Arbuth- 
not's  wrist.  "  I  believe  I  know  !  "  she  said,  starting  to 
run.     "Come  !     Let  us  find  Budlu  first." 

But  she  was  too  late  ;  as  they  rounded  the  carriage- 
drive,  and  saw  on  the  grey  sky  of  dawn  above  the 
blossoming  trees  the  flagstaff  with  its  drooping  flag 
ready  to  welcome  the  sun  as  ever,  there  was  a  sound  of 
voices,  of  laughter,  from  the  ruins.  And  the  next  mo- 
ment Nevill  Lloyd,  catching  sight  of  them,  was  tearing 
across  the  lawns  to  meet  them,  shouting  as  he  ran  — 

"  It's  all  right,  Lady  Arbuthnot !  Raymond  ran  the 
little  beggar  to  earth  in  five  minutes.  He  was  ujd  on 
the  top  of  the  tower  with  his  cJiuprassi,  his  bearer, 
and  Budlu  the  caretaker,  and  the  young  imp  had  got 
my  whole  sporting  magazine  too  !  By  Jove  !  if  I'd  only 
known  that  I  might  have  guessed — but  Raymond  did — " 

Grace,  who  had  pulled  up,  felt  the  relief  almost  worse 
than  the  suspense ;  yet  she  kept  calm. 

"  Lesley  !  "  she  said,  "  run  back  and  tell  Sir  George." 

"  Let  me  !  "  cried  Nevill  Lloyd.  "  Or  stay  !  I'd  better 
go  and  stop  the  search-parties." 

So,  with  light  hearts  and  feet,  they  left  Grace  alone  to 
meet  the  little  procession  that  was  coming  across  the  dim 
lawns.  Rather  a  crestfallen  little  procession  —  Jerry,  full 
of  yawns  and  but  half  awake,  led  by  Jack  Raymond, 
and  followed  by  guilty  figures  carrying  the  sporting 
magazine. 


400  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"  He  is  very  sorry  to  have  made  you  so  anxious,"  said 
Jack  Raymond,  grave  with  difficulty,  "  but  I  have  prom- 
ised you  won't  scold  him,  because  he  meant  well.  He 
thought  it  was  a  mutiny,  and  he  went  to  guard  the  flag." 

"And  I  did  guard  it!"  put  in  Jerry  aggrievedly, 
"  afore  I  went  to  sleep.  For  they  corned  to  pull  it  down 
—  didn't  they.''"     He  turned  sharply  to  his  henchmen. 

"  Husoor  /  "  they  assented  eagerly,  seeing  extenuation 
in  the  plea,  "without  doubt  they  came." 

"They  may  have!"  said  Jack  Raymond  aside,  "I 
haven't  had  time  to  find  out  yet.  He  was  asleep  when  I 
came,  with  the  key  of  the  door  in  his  hand ;  and  they 
were  positively  afraid  to  take  it  from  him  till  I  insisted!  " 

"  He  is  more  than  half-asleep  now,  poor  child,"  replied 
Grace  in  the  same  tone,  struggling  with  her  desire  to 
laugh,  and  cry,  and  hug  Jerry  all  at  once.  "  Bearer,  you 
had  better  take  the  cJiota-sahib  back  to  his  bed,  and  I 
will  inquire  about  the  rest  by  and  by.  Good-night, 
Jerry  !  or  rather  good-morning !  You  gave  poor  mum 
such  a  fright!  " 

"  I'm  solly,"  murmured  Jerry  sleepily,  shrinking  as 
ever  from  the  passionate  caress  she  could  not  help  giv- 
ing, "but  they  weally  did  come  —  didn't  they  .''  " 

" Hu^oor !  without  doubt  they  came!"  echoed  the 
trio  forlornly. 

"And  I  wouldn't  be  hard  on  them  either,"  said  Jack 
Raymond,  as  the  disconsolate  little  group  moved  home- 
wards. "  I  fancy  they  must  have  had  some  inkling  of 
the  city  business,  and  then,  when  he  started  this  game, 
they  were  in  two  minds  if  he  wasn't  right.  You  were 
all  away,  you  see.  And  master  Jerry  was  completely 
master  of  the  situation,  I  can  tell  you.  He  must  have 
been  thinking  about  it  for  some  time,  for  he  had  provi- 
sions—  chocolate  caramels,  and  heaven  knows  what!  — 
stored  in  the  crevices  —  dear  little  chap!  And  that 
reminds  me  "  —  he  paused  with  a  laugh,  and  drew  an 
official  envelope  sealed  with  a  red  seal  out  of  his  pocket 
—  "here's  his  'Secret  Despatches.'  They  fell  out  of 
Lloyd's  cartridge-case  he  was  wearing,  as  he  came  down- 


SECRET  DESPATCHES  4OI 

stairs  —  he  was  so  dead  sleepy  he  could  hardly  stand  — 
and  I  promised  to  hand  them  over  to  you.  He  has  had 
them,  he  told  me,  these  two  months !  and  they  are  most 
important." 

Grace  Arbuthnot  took  the  envelope,  gave  a  glance  at 
it,  a  cry,  certain,  yet  incredulous  — 

"  It  is  my  letter  —  tJie  letter  —  how  could  he  have 
found  it!" 

There  was  a  pause  as  those  two  stood  in  the  dawn  of 
another  day,  with  that  immemorial  past  about  them, 
looking  at  each  other  almost  doubtfully. 

"There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,"  said 
the  man  at  last.  "  And  so  Jerry  really  has  —  hullo, 
what's  up  now  .''     What  ^o  you  want .''  " 

'' KJiodazvimd  !  "  replied  the  furtive  importance,  which 
was  all  that  remained  of  the  "  kJidnsdman  to  Ricketts- 
saJiib  baJiadnr  who  was  killed  "as  it  salaamed  low  to  the 
masters.  "  There  is  a  mcvi  yonder  in  the  Residency, 
whom  I,  Mohubbut,  brought  thither  as  I  brought  the 
other,  into  the  keeping  of  Jan-Ali-shan.  And  he  hath 
kept  her !  Yea  !  during  the  night  when  the  evil-doers 
came,  he  kept  her  safe  as  he  did  of  old.  But  now  it 
is  dawn,  and  though  I  tell  the  mevi  it  is  safety,  she  lis- 
tens not;  but  if  the  Huzoors  come,  she  will  believe." 

"  During  the  night ! "  commented  Jack  Raymond 
swiftly,  as,  scarcely  able  to  believe  their  ears,  those  two 
followed  the  old  man's  lead.  "Then  it  is  true  —  Jerry 
has  —  has  kept  the  flag !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


FAIR    ODDS 


The  pendulum  of  India  is  a  heavy  one  ;  it  soon  returns 
to  its  normal  arc  ;  and  so,  after  a  very  few  days,  nothing 
remained  to  show  that  any  force  had  sent  it  beyond  its 
usual  swing  in  Nushapore  except  the  charred  ruins  of 
two  bungalows ;  and  they,  being  in  Shark  Lane,  were 
not  so  much  C7i  evidence  as  they  would  have  been 
elsewhere. 

So  far,  even,  as  personal  disturbance  to  the  owners 
was  concerned,  the  sum-total  of  effect  was  small ;  for 
Chris  Davenant  had  not  returned  to  hear  of  his  loss,  and 
Mrs.  Chris,  after  the  terrors  of  that  night,  when  she  had 
become  part  of  the  old  half-crazy  kJidnsamaii^  memory 
of  the  past,  seemed  glad  to  be  rid  of  any  tie  to  India. 
Indeed,  as  the  faces  around  her  became  graver  when  no 
tidings  came  of  her  husband,  and  the  impression  grew 
that  he  and  Jan-Ali-shan  had,  in  some  mysterious  way, 
been  mixed  up  in  the  attempt  to  wreck  the  train,  and 
the  fall  of  the  bastion,  she  seemed  almost  relieved.  Her 
one  desire  was  to  escape  from  a  place  where  such  terror 
was  possible ;  to  return  to  London,  to  its  ways  and 
works.  To  the  red  Hammersmith  'bus  that  runs  to  Kew 
on  Sundays  ;  to  the  baker,  the  butcher,  and  the  little 
greengrocer  round  the  corner.  And  when  she  wept,  it 
was  chiefly  because  —  having  no  worldly  goods  beyond 
a  torn  and  tattered  pink  tarlatan  —  she  could  not  engage 
her  passage  home,  until  a  sufficient  subscription  was 
raised  to  pay  for  it.     And  she  had  not  many  friends. 

So  far  as  the  one  bungalow,  therefore,  was  concerned, 
there  were  few  regrets.  On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Lucan- 
aster's  were  distinctly  above  the  average.     He  had  not 

402 


FAIR   ODDS  403 

only  been  burned  out  of  house  and  home,  but  of  other 
more  valuable  things ;  since,  almost  before  he  had  had 
time  to  consider  how  best  to  ensure  their  safety,  an  inrush 
of  voices  and  steps  in  the  verandah  had  made  him  think 
of  that  most  valuable  of  all  possessions  —  his  life  —  and 
leave  the  rest  —  even  the  woman  in  the  next  room  ! 

And  as  if  this  was  not  bad  enough,  something  else  had 
occurred  which  had  reduced  him  to  helpless  impotent 
cursing  and  swearing  against  Fate,  Jehan  Aziz,  Mrs. 
Chris  Davenant,  and  everything  that  had  conspired  to 
bring  about  such  incredible  ill-luck. 

And  yet  it  was  a  very  simple  thing,  almost  ludicrously 
so. 

The  very  day  after  the  rioting,  when  all  Nushapore 
was  being  searched  for  evidence,  the  police  with  great 
pride  had  brought  him  back  the  casket  which  had  been 
left  open  on  the  table  with  the  pink  dewdrops  beside  it, 
when  Mrs.  Chris  fled  with  the  kJidndsnian  of  ^\Qk.QX\.-saJiib 
baJiadnr  (who  was  killed).  It  was  now  closed,  and  had 
been  discovered,  they  said,  in  the  house  of  one  Govind, 
who  had  been  arrested  on  suspicion.  And  he,  to  screen 
himself  doubtless  from  worse  accusations,  had  stated 
that  he  had  found  it  flung  away  on  the  road  not  far 
from  the  blazing  bungalow.  Therefore,  since  it  was 
evidently  a  jewel  casket,  it  was  most  likely  part  of  the 
Huzoor'^  lost  property ;  and  if  so,  he  could  detail  its 
contents  and  open  the  spring-lock  with  his  key,  in  order 
that  the  description  might  be  duly  verified  and  the 
necessary  forms  filled  up. 

For  one  brief  second  Mr.  Lucanaster  had  returned 
thanks  to  such  gods  as  he  possessed  for  this  small 
mercy.  Here  was  something  saved  from  the  general 
debacle ;  to  begin  with,  a  very  valuable  ruby  —  and  — 

And  then  had  come  the  horrid  recollection  of  a  certain 
string  of  pearls  which  could  not  be  claimed. 

It  had  nearly  killed  him  to  deny  the  ownership  of  the 
casket ;  but  he  had  denied  it.  There  was  literally  noth- 
ing else  to  be  done,  with  that  spring-lock  and  the  key  in 
his  possession. 


404  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

So,  when  the  police  took  it  away  in  order  to  find  the 
rightful  owner,  he  had  gone  into  his  room  at  the  hotel 
—  it  was  next  the  one  to  which  Mrs.  Chris  had  been 
taken  —  and  shaken  his  fist  at  her  through  the  wall,  and 
sworn  horribly  not  only  at  his  own  loss,  but  at  the  gain 
of  others,  which,  with  his  experience  in  jewel-jobbing,  he 
knew  would  follow. 

And  it  did ;  for  no  sooner  was  the  casket  filed  open 
by  the  police  and  its  contents  made  known  by  a  list,  than 
owners  began  to  crop  up  —  crowds  of  them. 

But  it  was  when  an  assistant  police-ofificer  at  the  club, 
thinking  to  rouse  him  from  his  general  despondency  by 
putting  him  on  the  track  of  a  good  thing,  mentioned 
that  there  had  been  a  ruby  in  the  casket  which  he  really 
ought  to  get  hold  of;  a  ruby  that  had  been  claimed,  on 
irrefragable  evidence,  as  an  heirloom  by  a  peculiarly 
impecunious  member  of  the  Royal  Family,  from  whom 
he  could  no  doubt  get  it  cheap  without  much  trouble  — 
it  was  then  that  Mr.  Lucanaster  had  fled  from  his  fellows, 
and  actually  wept  to  think  that  after  three  years'  hard 
scheming  he  had  bought  that  ruby  at  something  Hke  its 
real  value. 

That  had  been  the  worst  blow ;  but  there  had  been 
similar  ones,  and  quite  a  large  number  of  the  pensioners 
invested  in  new  cocks  and  quails  and  went  about  with 
cheerful  countenances. 

Another  result  was  that  Grace  Arbuthnot,  as  she 
stood  one  day  re-threading  the  four  pearls  which  Sobrai 
Begum  had  brought  to  Miss  Leezie's  house  on  to  the 
string  that  had  been  found  in  the  casket,  declared  that 
it  was  just  like  the  last  chapter  in  a  novel.  Everything 
was  clearing  itself  up  —  her  face  certainly  warranted  the 
remark — and  rounding  itself  off  neatly  for  the  end. 
She  thought,  as  she  spoke,  of  the  lost  letter,  the  re- 
covery of  which,  as  Jerry's  "  Secret  Despatches,"  had 
seemed  so  mysterious,  until  the  child  had  told  her  quite 
simply  that  he  had  found  the  envelope  in  a  bush  in  the 
garden  —  flung  away,  most  likely,  by  the  thief  as  value- 
less—  and  had  kept  it  to  play  with,  because  some  one 


FAIR   ODDS  405 

"  must  have  hidden  it,  you  know,  an'  didn't  want  people 
to  read  it."  But  she  did  not  speak  of  this;  she  only  said 
that  she  had  never  expected  to  see  her  pearls  again,  yet 
here  they  were,  with  only  one  a-missing — her  dear  old 
pearls !  She  held  them  up  to  her  white  throat  and 
smiled,  thinking  of  the  many  happy  hours  she  had  spent 
with  their  touch  upon  her. 

If  any  one  had  told  her  that  that  was  the  first  time 
they  had  touched  a  slender  white  throat,  and  that  the 
last  time  a  woman  had  worn  them,  they  had  been 
snatched  from  a  slender  brown  one  and  flung  in  the 
dust  from  scorn  of  the  hours  they  had  brought  to  a 
bride,  she  would  not  have  believed  it. 

Not  her  pearls !  Whose  else  could  they  be  .■'  Had 
not  even  Mr.  Lucanaster  given  his  opinion  on  them  as 
an  expert }  for  even  that  agony  had  not  been  spared  to 
the  unfortunate  man. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Sir  George,  who  had  stopped  his 
writing  to  admire  his  wife  and  think  how  happy  and  hand- 
some she  looked,  and  how  glad  he  was  for  her  sake  that  the 
strain  and  anxiety  was  over  —  as  it  seemed  to  be  !  "it  is 
rather  curious  how  everything  is  falling  into  line.  It  is 
always  the  '  first  step  '  in  India,  of  course,  and  so  it  was 
only  to  be  expected  that  things  would  settle  into  march 
time  after  a  bit.  But  Jehan  Aziz's  death  and  this  find- 
ing of  the  pearls  has  disposed  of  that  story,  for  Burkut 
Ali,  the  doctors  say,  isn't  likely  to  live,  and  the  girl  is 
certainly  a  thief,  whatever  else  she  may  be.  And  it  dis- 
poses of  the  pestilent  fellow  who  wrote  that  threatening 
letter  also."  He  paused.  "Then  Kenyon  was  only 
telling  me  this  morning  what  an  extraordinary  quieting 
effect  that  incident  in  Mai  Kali's  temple  has  had.  Of 
course,  we  haven't  got  to  the  bottom  of  it  quite.  No  one 
will  give  evidence,  because  of  the  miracle;  but  the  fact 
remains  that  the  prophecy  was  fulfilled." 

"  Then  there  is  the  bridge  business,"  said  Grace 
thoughtfully.     "Has  anything  new  cropped  up  } " 

Sir  George  shook  his  head,  then  frowned.  "  Not 
about   that,  beyond  the   fact  that  the  engine-driver  is 


406  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

quite  certain  he  heard  singing,  and  that  of  course  points 
to  the  loafer  Ellison;  and  as  he  was  Davenant's  fore- 
man of  works,  the  two  were  Hkely  to  be  together.     But 

—  but,"  he  frowned  again,  and  let  his  hand  busy  itself 
impatiently  with  a  pile  of  papers,  "  there  is  something 
else.  You  know,  we  wondered  how  the  troops  got  here 
so  soon.  Well,  there  is  something  odd  about  the  tele- 
gram. Times  don't  tally,  and  it  seems  another  telegram 
was  sent  direct  to  the  station  to  detain  the  up-mail,  pend- 
ing orders.  It  came  in — 'urgent'  —  just  as  the  train 
was  in,  and  the  station-master  —  he  is  a  native  —  got 
flurried  and  sent  up,  with  the  telegram  we  know  about, 

—  at  least  I  suppose  so — to  cantonments  for  further 
orders,  when,  of  course,  the  commandant  jumped 
at  the  chance.  And  now  the  station-master  can't  find 
the  wire,  isn't  sure  if  it  ever  was  written  out,  as  he  was 
in  the  telegraph-office  at  the  time  waiting  for  the  up- 
signals.  And  there  is  no  trace  of  it  this  end.  Nothing 
but  the  telegram  form  I  gave  Kenyon  to  fill  in  and 
which  he  sent  to  the  railway-office.  But  there,  again, 
the  time  doesn't  tally  with  Kenyon's  recollections,  and 
though  the  order  is  identical  the  wording  is  slightly  dif- 
ferent, for  he  put  in  something  about  stopping  the  night 
mail  which  isn't  in  the  wire  the  Commandant  received. 
That  part  seems  to  have  been  construed  into  a  separate 
order,  but  to  have  got  mixed  up  somehow.  But  that 
may  be  due  to  the  baboos ;  a  couple  of  greater  fools  never 
were.  They  seem  to  know  nothing;  especially  the  one 
here.  Kenyon  says  the  clocks  may  have  been  wrong ; 
but  I  can't  help  wondering.  Davenant  seems  to  have 
known  something,  and  he  was  seen  at  his  works  after 
dusk;  if  he  had  been  another  sort  of  fellow — but  it  is 
impossible !  There  isn't  one  Englishman  in  a  thousand, 
let  alone  a  native,  who  would  take  such  a  responsibility. 
I  wouldn't,  and  I  don't  know  any  one  who  would;  at 
any  rate  who  would,  and  then  keep  quiet  when  it  was 
successful  —  for  it  was!  It  made  all  the  difference:  as 
I've  told  Kenyon,  he  has  the  entire  credit;  but  for  him 
we  should  have  had  a  row," 


FAIR    ODDS  407 

"  But  if  you  hadn't  given  him  the  telegram  —  " 

Sir  George  shook  his  head  in  honest  obstinacy.  "  I 
never  meant  it  to  be  used  ;  I  didn't  believe  in  the  danger. 
As  I  told  Mr.  Raymond,  he  was  right,  and  I  was  wrong  ; 
so  that  is  an  end  of  it,  my  dear." 

He  seemed  quite  satisfied,  especially  when  his  wife 
stooped  suddenly,  and  kissed  the  top  of  his  head  ;  though 
he  wondered,  as  she  left  the  room,  if  he  was  really  get- 
ting a  little  bald ;  not  so  much  because  her  lips  had 
thrilled  him,  but  because  he  was  observant  enough  to 
have  noticed  that  a  partially  bald  head  is  provocative 
of  wifely  kissing.  Still,  even  that  evil  had  to  be  faced 
in  the  cause  of  empire,  and  so  the  honest  gentleman 
took  up  his  pen  and  continued  the  report  of  recent 
affairs  which  he  was  writing,  and  in  which  the  credit 
of  saving  the  situation  was  given  unstintingly  not  to 
himself,  but  to  others  ;  for  Sir  George  was  a  gentle- 
man. 

Grace,  however,  though  she  was  a  lady,  and  despite 
that  kiss  of  approval,  felt  a  trifle  annoyed.  It  was  very 
nice  of  George  to  minimise  his  part  in  the  business ;  yet 
when  all  was  said  and  done,  he  Jiad  consented  to  give 
the  order  —  consented  almost  in  defiance  of  the  official 
programme.  The  more  she  thought  of  it,  the  more 
aggrieved  she  felt  for  him ;  and  so,  when  she  found 
Lesley  alone  in  the  school-room,  she  sought  her  sym- 
pathy, explained  the  whole  position  at  great  length,  and 
wound  up  by  the  appeal  — 

"  Now  do  you  see  what  right  Mr.  Kenyon  has  to  all 
the  credit } " 

Lesley  had  so  far  managed  to  keep  a  calm  sough  with- 
out much  difficulty ;  at  the  present  moment,  however, 
something  seemed  wrong  with  her  work,  for  she  was 
very  busy  with  it  at  the  window. 

"No!"  she  said  at  last,  "I  don't!"  and  then  she 
repeated  the  remark  with  palpable  resentment :  "  Cer- 
tainly not!  She  had  nothing"  to  do  with  it  —  nothing 
at  all." 

Grace  looked  in  her  direction  with  dubious  curiosity. 


408  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"You  don't  mean,  do  you,"  she  asked,  "that  you 
think  any  one  else  —  " 

"  I  don't  thmk  anything  at  all,"  interrupted  the  girl 
hurriedly.  "  I  only  say  that  Mr.  Kenyon  didn't  —  I 
mean  that  he  isn't  the  right  person  to  praise." 

But  Lady  Arbuthnot  was  not  to  be  put  off.  "  Because 
that  really  is  quite  absurd,  as  I  told  George.  And  he 
admitted  that  he  did  not  know  of  any  one  —  not  a  single 
man  who  would  have  taken  such  a  grave  responsibility. 
Now  do  you  }  Tell  the  truth,  Lesley  !  do  you  know  any 
one  .-* " 

"  Perhaps  there  was  more  than  a  single  man,"  sug- 
gested Lesley  evasively,  the  knot  in  her  thread  becom- 
ing extremely  troublesome. 

Grace,  from  her  chair,  gave  an  irritated  glance  towards 
the  window.     "  My  dear  Lesley !  you  are  not  often  so 

—  so  precise  !  As  if  it  mattered  to  my  argument  if 
there  were  one  or  two!  I  wish  you  would  leave  off 
threading  your  needle,  or  whatever  it  is,  and  come  here 
and  be  a  little  sympathetic.  It  means  so  much  to  me, 
you  know  —  so,  if  you  wish  it,  we  will  say  two  !  Do  you 
know  of  any  two  people  who  could  and  would  do  such 
a  thing  .-• " 

Lesley  folded  up  her  work  with  great  method,  but 
remained  where  she  was. 

"  Why  should  we  complicate  matters  by  saying  two.''  " 
she  asked  pugnaciously.  "And  after  all,  it  wasn't  —  I 
mean  it  would  not  be  such  a  very  big  thing.  There 
must  be  lots  of  people  in  the  world  who  could  do  it. 
Just  think  !  even  among  the  men  one  knows." 

"  People  who  could,  and  would !  "  echoed  Grace  in 
the  same  tone.  "  No  !  I  don't  know  any  one  !  "  She 
paused,  and  added  a  trifle  bitterly:  "  I  know  one,  who 
could;  but  then  he  wouldn't!  —  Mr.  Raymond." 

"  Mr.  Raymond  !  Why  should  you  say  he  wouldn't .-'  " 
asked  the  girl  swiftly.     "  Why  — .?  " 

"  You  needn't  be  so  fierce,  Lesley ! "  interrupted  Grace, 
with  a  little  hard  laugh,  "  though  you  don't  think  him 
half  bad.     For  many  reasons  !     No  —  he  wouldn't  help 

—  us  —  in  a  thing:  like  that  —  not  he  !  " 


FAIR    ODDS  409 

"That  isn't  fair,"  cried  Lesley  in  a  flame.  "If  you 
knew  —  "     She  paused,  but  was  too  late. 

"  If  I  knew  what .-' "  asked  Lady  Arbuthnot,  rising 
and  coming  to  the  window ;  then,  standing  before  the 
girl,  to  say,  after  a  pause:  "  You  will  have  to  tell  me,  you 
know,  Lesley ;  you  have  started  me,  and  I'm  not  a  fool. 
And  of  course  I  know  —  Jerry  told  me  —  that  Mr.  Ray- 
mond had  come  to  cycle  with  you  that  evening  —  that 
tJiat  was  why  you  were  so  late ;  but  I  said  nothing,  be- 
cause I  thought  it  was  only  —  " 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  thought,"  interrupted  Lesley 
angrily;  "  and  I  won't  tell  you  anything  unless  you  prom- 
ise not  to  speak  —  " 

"  I  will  promise  not  to  tell  any  one  who  ought  not  to 
know  that  I  know,"  put  in  Grace  Arbuthnot  proudly. 
"  I  won't  promise  more  —  " 

"And  who  wants  more.''"  cried  the  girl  hotly.  "Of 
course,  if  people  ought  to  know,  they  must  know.  That 
is  the  only  reason  why  I'm  telling  you.  I  didn't  mean 
to,  but  if  you  can  be  so  —  so  unjust,  it  is  only  right  that 
you  should  know  the  truth." 

"  I  can  judge  of  that  for  myself  when  you  have  told 
me,  so  you  needn't  waste  time,"  retorted  Grace. 

A  sudden  antagonism  had  sprung  up  between  the  two 
women  of  which  they  were  both  aware,  of  which  they  were 
both  vaguely  ashamed,  but  which  they  could  not  ignore. 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  Grace,  with  chill  dignity  when 
the  recital  was  over.  "  You  were  right  to  tell  me.  I 
will  apologise  to  Mr.  Raymond." 

"To  Mr.  Raymond!"  echoed  Lesley,  carried  beyond 
her  resentment  by  eagerness.  "  No  !  Lady  Arbuthnot  — 
not  to  him.  He  is  not  one  of  the  people  who  ought  to 
know  that  you  know  !  " 

"  May  I  ask  why  t  " 

For  an  instant  it  seemed  as  if  Lesley  would  have 
matched  Grace  in  resentment,  and  then  suddenly  she 
held  out  her  hands  in  swift  appeal. 

"  Oh !  don't  be  angry,  please !  but  surely  after  what 
happened  between  you  —  I  can't  help  knowing  that,  can 


410  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

I  ?  —  you  owe  Mr.  Raymond  something  —  you  ought  to 
let  him  have  this  —  this  revenge  to  himself  —  just  to 
take  the  sting  away  !  " 

"  To  himself  !  "  echoed  Grace  scornfully.  "  I  presume 
you  mean  to  himself  and  you  —  " 

"Oh!  you  may  be  as  nasty  as  you  like  about  that," 
interrupted  Lesley  hotly,  "  but  I  know  I  am  right.  It 
would  only  be  a  fresh  tie  between  you  —  a  new  senti- 
ment." 

Lady  Arbuthnot  flushed  up  to  her  eyes.  "  Really, 
Lesley  !  you  pass  bounds !  You  speak  as  if  I  wanted 
to  —  to  clutch  at  Mr.  Raymond,  when  I  should  only  be 
too  glad  if —  However,  as  you  say,  my  apology  is  a 
triviality.     Sir  George  shall  —  " 

"  Sir  George  !  "  echoed  Lesley  in  her  turn,  shaking  her 
head.  "  No  !  he  is  not  one  of  those  who  ought  to  know 
that  you  know,  either.  He  may  have  to  know,  perhaps, 
but  it  should  not  be  through  you.  Look !  how  he  zvill 
give  the  credit  to  Mr.  Kenyon ;  and  if  he  knew  it  was 
Mr.  Raymond,  he  w^ould  insist  still  more  on  giving  it  to 
him.  You  know  he  would.  Lady  Arbuthnot  —  there 
would  be  a  fuss,  and  every  one  would  talk,  and  he  would 
hate  it  —  almost  worse  than  Mr.  Raymond.  Why  not 
leave  it  alone  —  if  we  can  — what  harm  does  it  do  .''  " 

"  You  have  grown  very  wise,  Lesley,"  said  the  elder 
woman  after  a  pause.    "  Love,  they  say,  has  eyes  —  " 

"Love!"  Lesley  flashed  round  on  her  like  a  whirlwind. 
"  Ah !  I  wish  there  was  no  such  thing  in  the  world. 
Then  we  women  would  have  a  chance  of  being  sensible. 
Love  I  No,  Lady  Arbuthnot,  love  has  nothing  to  do 
with  it  —  nothing." 

They  stood  facing  each  other,  those  two,  and  then  a 
smile  —  distinctly  a  pleased  smile  —  came  to  the  older 
face.  "But,  my  dear  child,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  are  7tot  in  love  with  Mr.  Raymond  !  " 

The  flush  up  to  the  eyes  was  Lesley's  now ;  but  she 
stood  her  ground  bravely.  "  It  does  not  matter  if  I  am 
or  not ;  I  am  not  going  to  talk  of  it.  And  I  promised 
him  —  " 


FAIR    ODDS  411 

Grace  broke  in  with  a  little  peal  of  laughter,  tender, 
amused,  pathetic,  yet  acquiescent  laughter.  "  Has  it 
got  so  far  as  that  ?     Ah  !  Lesley  dear  !  I'm  so  glad." 

The  girl  looked  at  her  with  a  faint  wonder,  a  great 
admiration,  then  shook  her  head. 

"  I  believe  you  are  made  different  from  me,"  she  said 
soberly;  "I  can  only  understand  one  thing  —  how  it 
was  that  Jie  never  forgot — will  never  quite  forget. 
For  there  is  nothing  to  be  glad  of,  I  can  assure  you  — 
nothing  at  all." 

She  did  not,  in  truth,  look  as  if  there  was ;  but  Grace, 
as  she  took  Sir  George  his  tea,  as  she  always  did,  had 
her  eyes  full  of  that  mysterious  gladness  which  any  sen- 
timent, even  sorrow,  brings  to  some  women's  faces.  It 
suited  hers,  and  so  her  husband's  had  quite  a  lover-like 
diffidence  in  it  as  he  watched  her  fingering  the  thin  gold 
chain  with  pink  topazes  hanging  from  it,  which  he  took 
from  a  drawer. 

**  It  was  in  that  casket  the  police  found,"  he  explained, 
"  and  I  told  them  if  no  owner  turned  up  for  it,  to  send 
it  for  you  to  see,  and  then  if  you  liked  it  —  " 

She  looked  up,  smiling.  "  It  is  too  young  for  me. 
Yes !  it  is  true,  George,  I  am  getting  old  —  ever  so  old  ! 
But  I'll  tell  you  what  we  will  do !  If  we  can  buy  it,  we 
will  give  it  to  Lesley  as  a  wedding-present  when  she 
marries  Mr.  Raymond." 

Sir  George  sat  back  in  his  chair  —  perhaps  she  had 
meant  that  he  should. 

"  My  dear  girl !  "  he  said  feebly,  "  this  is  the  first  I 
have  heard  of  it.     Mr.  Raymond!     And  I  thought — " 

"  Never  mind  what  you  thought,"  she  put  in  decidedly  : 
"  it  isn't  quite  settled  yet;  but  it  is  going  to  be.  Oh  yes  ! 
it  is  going  to  be  !  " 

"Well!"  said  Sir  George  recovering  himself  for  the 
usual  formula  —  "he  is  a  very  lucky  fellow!  But  it  is 
—  er  —  all  the  more  likely  to  be  so,  because  —  curiously 
enough  —  I  have  been  told  to  offer  Mr.  Raymond  the 
trusteeship  of  the  old  Thakoor  of  Dhurmkote's  affairs. 
In  fact,  the  old  man  refused  point-blank  to  have  any 


412  VOICES  f.V   THE  NIGHT 

one  else,  and  as  we  want  him  to  retrench  and  adopt  an 
heir  properly  —  " 

"  My  dear  George !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Arbuthnot, 
"how  perfectly  delightful  —  it  —  it  will  settle  every- 
thing!" 

"Yes;  I  —  I  suppose  it  will,"  replied  Sir  George 
dubiously,  and  then  his  sober  common  sense  came  to 
the  front  —  "  Not,  my  dear,  that  I  exactly  see  what  had 
to  —  to  —  er  —  be  settled  —  " 

"  No  !  perhaps  not,"  said  Grace  thoughtfully,  "  but  it 
will,  all  the  same." 

With  which  mysterious  remark  she  went  off  to  set 
springes  for  that  Love  with  a  big  L,  which  was  to  settle 
all  things. 

She  was  an  expert  in  the  art,  as  women  of  her  type 
always  are,  and  yet  the  days  passed  without  bringing  her 
success.  For  something,  of  which  she  knew  nothing, 
stood  between  those  two. 

Put  briefly,  it  was  a  rd7n  riicki.  And  so  when  they 
met  —  which  was  inevitably  often,  under  Lady  Arbuth- 
not's  skilful  hands  —  they  talked  of  everything  under 
the  sun  —  of  their  adventure  together,  of  the  extraordi- 
nary way  in  which  Fate  had  favoured  them,  of  Chris 
Davenant  and  Jan-Ali-shan's  mysterious  disappearances, 
of  the  pearls,  and  the  signet  of  royalty  that  was  not  to 
be  found  anywhere.  They  even  talked  of  the  Thakoor 
of  Dhurmkote,  and  the  almost  endless  interest  and 
power  of  such  a  life  as  that  now  offered  to  Jack  Ray- 
mond—  they  even  quarrelled  over  his  hesitancy  in 
accepting  it ;  but  they  never  talked  of  what  Lesley  had 
asked  him  to  forget  —  what  she  had  stigmatised  scorn- 
fully as  the  "  rest  of  it." 

Grace  became  almost  tearful  over  the  fact.  It  seemed 
to  her  at  last  as  if,  even  here,  hers  was  not  to  be  the 
hand  which  was  to  wile  Jack  Raymond  back,  either  to 
duty  or  pleasure. 

And  it  was  not.  That  task  was  reserved  for  a  simpler 
hand  ;  a  hand  that  had  neither  clutched  nor  refused,  the 
hand  of  a  woman  to  whom  "  the  rest  of  it "  was  neither 


FAIR    ODDS  413 

to  be  despised  nor  overestimated,  and  who  had  neither 
scorned  it  nor  sought  for  it. 

It  was  Auntie  Khojee's  when,  one  day.  Jack  Ray- 
mond and  Lesley  found  themselves  deftly  manoeuvred 
by  Grace  Arbuthnot  into  the  tete-a-tcte  of  a  visit  to  the 
old  lady ;  not  in  the  least  against  their  wills,  for  he  was 
quite  content  with,  and  she  vastly  superior  to,  such  pal- 
pable ruses ;  besides,  she  really  wanted  to  see  the  origi- 
nator of  the  rmn  ruckiy  who  was  now  decently  established 
on  the  top  of  an  offshoot  of  the  city,  which  jutted  out 
into  that  very  pleasure-garden  to  which  the  old  lady  had 
come  with  her  petition  to  the  bracelet-brother. 

So,  one  morning,  Lesley  drove  down  to  the  Garden. 
Jack  Raymond  met  her,  riding,  at  the  gate,  and  together 
they  strolled  along  that  wide  cross  of  water  and  marble 
and  flowers,  and  climbed  the  dark  stair  which  led  to  the 
little  square  of  roof  and  the  little  sUp  of  room  that  were 
only  just  large  enough  for  Auntie  Khojee  and  the  help- 
lessness for  which  she  cared ;  for  Khojee,  helpless  as 
she  was,  had  always  stood  between  some  one  still  more 
helpless  and  the  buffets  of  fate,  and  would  have  felt 
lost  without  the  occupation. 

And  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  be  without 
it,  when  Lateefa,  paralysed  from  the  waist  beyond  all 
hope  of  ever  getting  about  again,  lacked  a  caretaker. 

And  so  he  sat,  busy  as  ever,  with  slips  of  bamboo  and 
sheets  of  tissue-paper  on  the  little  square  of  roof,  just 
as  he  had  sat  in  the  wide  courtyard  where  the  royal 
peacocks  now  spread  their  broken  plaster  tails  over 
plague  patients  —  those  plague  patients  which  the  vast 
stability  of  the  Oriental  had  by  this  time  accepted  as 
inevitable ;  which  it  had  taken,  as  it  were,  into  its  im- 
memorial custom. 

Lateefa  had  been  once  more  asking  for  paste,  and 
Khojee  had  brought  him  some  —  without  lumps!  —  in 
a  leaf  cup  ;  for  she  laid  it  aside  to  receive  Jack  Raymond 
with  a  "  Bisviil/ah  .^ "  of  pleasure,  and  the  strange  miss 
with  a  ceremonious  salaam.  Lateefa  had  the  latter  for 
both  visitors,  but  there  was  a  bold  questioning  in  his 


414  VOICES  LV   THE  NIGHT 

black  eyes  for  the  Huzoor,  who  gave  back  the  look 
with  a  valiant  attempt  at  unconsciousness. 

There  was  a  curious  peace  up  there  on  the  roof, 
Lesley  felt,  with  only  one  or  two  of  Lateefa's  kites  be- 
tween you  and  the  sky,  and  the  even  flow  of  Lateefa's 
Persian  quotations  in  your  ears;  for  Auntie  Khojee  — 
after  disposing  her  guests  on  two  rush  stools  —  had 
hurried  into  the  slip  of  a  room  for  cardamoms,  since 
they  belong  to  congratulations  as  well  as  to  consola- 
tions. And,  nowadays,  what  with  her  pension  and 
Lateefa's  earnings,  there  were  always  cardamoms,  real 
cardamoms,  on  the  roof,  and  many  another  comfort 
besides. 

Lateefa,  making  polite  conversation,  admitted  this 
openly,  while  Jack  Raymond  looked  uneasily  at  Lesley, 
wondering  —  if  her  knowledge  of  the  vernacular  had  not 
been  mercifully  limited  —  what  she  would  have  said  to 
the  pointed  allusions  to  the  benefit  every  man  derived 
from  associating  himself  with  a  truly  virtuous  woman, 
and  the  desirability  of  settling  down  in  time ;  not  as  he 
—  Lateefa  —  had  done,  too  late  for  hope  of  leaving 
aught  behind  him  but  the  flimsy  children  of  naught 
above  him !  A  sorry  legacy  to  the  world ;  though  in 
their  day  they  had  done  strange  things !  But  the 
Hiizoor  was  wiser  !     He 

Here  Aunt  Khojee  —  who  with  the  most  innocent  of 
vanities  had  spent  part  of  her  absence  in  putting  on  a 
very  stiff  new  pink  net  veil,  which  during  the  rest  of  the 
visit  refused  to  stop  on  her  head,  and  to  the  old  lady's 
intense  discomfiture  left  her  sparse  grey  hairs  indecently 
exposed  at  crucial  moments  —  reappeared  with  the 
cardamoms,  to  Jack  Raymond's  great  relief  ;  though  he 
soon  discovered  that  the  real  horror  of  the  situation  was 
only  just  beginning. 

For,  seated  decorously  apart,  yet  with  her  half -averted 
face  alight  with  smiles  and  interest,  she  began  on  a 
series  of  questions  which  made  his  heart  sink  within  him, 
since  he  knew  Lesley  of  old. 

And  sure  enough  it  was  not  long  before  the  latter 


FAIR    ODDS  415 

said,  aggrievedly,   "  You    might    translate   what   she  is 
saying.     After  all,  I  did  come  to  visit  her,  you  know !  " 

He  left  the  path  of  truth,  then,  desperately,  with  the 
result  that  Lesley  commissioned  him  to  make  the  proper 
reply  to  such  Oriental  periphrasis  —  something,  he  luas 
to  be  sure,  that  would  please  the  dear  old  thing  ! 

Then  he  realised  that  he  was  hopelessly  enmeshed, 
for,  of  course,  Auntie  Khojee  wanted  a  reply  to  her 
question ;  and  it  was  not  what  she  had  desired  at  all ! 

"  She  doesn't  look  a  bit  pleased,"  remarked  Lesley, 
de  haut  en  bas.  "  Dear  me  !  I  wash  I  could  speak.  I 
know  I  could  do  better  than  that !  And  I  hate  being 
dependent." 

"  I  wish  you  could,"  said  Jack  Raymond  grimly.  "  I 
don't  want  to  be  a  go-between  !  " 

His  evident  ill-temper  mollified  her.  "  Well !  at  any 
rate,  you  might  try  again,  and  say  something  really 
nice." 

So  he  did ;  and  he  and  Aunt  Khojee  had  quite  an 
animated  passage,  while  Lateefa  from  his  kites  listened 
and  looked  knowing. 

"Well!  "  remarked  Lesley,  at  last,  quite  angrily;  "  I 
don't  see  what  was  the  use  of  my  coming  at  all !  You 
might  at  least  give  me  a  hint  of  w^hat  you  are  talking 
about !     It  is  very  rude." 

His  temper  went  then  altogether.  "  If  you  want  to 
know,"  he  said,  still  more  grimly,  "  she  was  asking  when 
we  are  going  to  be  married." 

Lesley  gasped.  "  Married  !  "  —  she  echoed  indig- 
nantly, yet  conscious  of  a  curious  desire  to  smile  and 
feel  happy  which  must  be  squashed  firmly  —  "  Well !  if 
she  does,  Mr.  Raymond,  you  can  tell  her  —  never/" 
Her  dignity  was  tremendous. 

"  I  have  told  her  so  three  times,"  replied  Jack  Ray- 
mond gravely,  "  but  she  won't  believe  it ;  she  says —  " 

"  I  don't  care  what  she  says,"  retorted  Lesley  quickly. 
"  She  must  be  made  to  beheve  it.  Tell  her  —  tell  her 
about  the  ram  rucki,  and  all  that.  She  will  understand 
then." 


4l6  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

"She  may,"  assented  Jack  dubiously;  "but  it  is  a 
little  —  ahem  —  mixed  up  —  isn't  it  ?  " 

A  suspicion  that  the  situation  was  beginning  to  amuse 
him  made  her  say  — 

"  Not  at  all !  Of  course  she  will  understand.  She 
gave  you  a  ram  rucki,  and  why  —  why  shouldn't  I  ? " 

"  No  reason  at  all.     I'm  awfully  glad  you  did." 

He  looked  it,  and  Lesley  once  more  felt  that  absurd 
desire  to  smile  and  feel  happy,  as  she  sat  listen- 
ing, watching  the  withered  old  face,  waiting  for  the 
answer. 

It  was  not  much  when  it  came.  It  was  only  a  pursing 
up  of  the  lips  that  had  never  known  a  lover's  kiss,  a 
gentle  raillery  in  the  kind  tear-dimmed  eyes,  and  a  brisk 
flirt  of  the  fingers  that  had  worn  themselves  to  the  bone 
to  bring  happiness  to  others. 

^^Trra!"  said  Auntie  Khojee,  with  supreme  uncon- 
cern for  explanations.     "  Trra  !  " 

"  I'm  afraid  it  is  no  go,  Miss  Drummond,"  said  Jack 
decorously.  "  I  believe  it  —  it  would  save  trouble  if  we 
—  for  the  time  only,  of  course  —  " 

Lesley  blushed  a  fine  blush.  "  I  daresay  you  are 
right,"  she  assented,  supremely  superior;  "it  doesn't 
really  matter  —  for  the  time,"  she  added  significantly. 

And  after  that  an  almost  reckless  happiness  was 
added  to  the  peace  of  the  roof. 

Lateefa  quoted  Hafiz  by  the  yard.  Auntie  Khojee 
got  hold  of  Lesley's  hand  and  held  it  fast  with  one  of 
hers,  while  the  other  slid  up  and  down  the  girl's  arm 
with  the  little  caressing  pats  and  pinches  with  which  she 
had  tried  to  wile  away  Noormahal's  weariness,  and  Jack 
Raymond  sat  and  looked  on  with  — 

With  what .''  Lesley  did  not  quite  realise  what  the 
expression  was  till  they  were  alone  together  on  their 
way  back  through  the  garden  once  more.  Then  she 
recollected  it ;  for  his  face  was  all  soft  and  kind,  all  lit 
up  with  a  delicate  raillery,  a  forgetf ulness  of  the  work-a- 
day  world,  just  as  it  had  been  that  evening  —  that  even- 
ing when  another  woman  had  called  it  into  being  —  that 


FAIR    ODDS  417 

evening  when  she  had  felt  so  lonely  —  when  the  cinna- 
mon dove  — 

"  Do  — yoji  —  love  —  too  ?  do  — you  —  love  —  too  ?  " 
came  the  question  from  the  rose-bush  once  more ;  but 
the  bird  did  not  fly  from  its  shelter  now.  There  was  no 
thorn  in  the  path  now  to  make  those  two  pause  and 
startle  it.     So  the  question  followed  them  —  "Do — yoti 

—  love  —  too?  do — you  —  love — too?"  as  they  walked 
side  by  side,  leaving  the  Sanctuary  behind  them  and 
ncaring  the  gilded  summerhouse  before  them. 

"  There's  no  hurry,  is  there  .-'  "  said  the  man  suddenly 
when  they  reached  it.     "  Let  us  sit  down  a  bit  and  talk 

—  about  ourselves." 

The  girl  sat  down,  but  shook  her  head.  "  It  was 
only  for  the  time,  Mr.  Raymond,"  she  said,  not  pretend- 
ing to  misunderstand  his  meaning. 

"  Why  should  it  only  be  for  the  time  .>'  " 

"  Why } "  she  echoed,  looking  out  into  the  Pleasure- 
garden  of  Kings.    "  For  a  great  many  reasons,  I  think." 

And  then  she  began  on  them,  one  by  one,  dispassion- 
ately, rationally ;  and  sometimes  he  agreed  with  her 
despondently  as  to  his  character  and  interests,  and 
sometimes  he  gave  into  her  greater  knowledge  regard- 
ing her  own. 

And  the  dove  cooed  on  its  question,  and  the  jewelled 
parrots  —  winged  creatures  as  they  were  —  flew  from 
one  screen  of  flowering  trees  to  the  other,  unable  to 
escape  the  thraldom  of  the  high  wall  hidden  by  leaf  and 
blossom  —  unable  to  escape  from  that  prisonment  of 
pleasure. 

"  And  so  you  see,  Mr.  Raymond,"  came  the  girl's 
voice,  "  the  odds  are  —  " 

"  The  odds  !  "  he  echoed  quickly,  almost  mischievously, 
"Ah  !  if  it  is  a  question  of  odds,  it's  my  innings — I'll 
take  twenty  to  one  on  Bonnie  Lesley  !  "  He  held  out  his 
hand. 

She  essayed  a  frown,  she  essayed  a  smile,  and  then 
she  said,  "  Really,  you  are  too  foolish  —  Jack  !  " 


4l8  VOICES  IN   THE  NIGHT 

And  so  in  years  to  come,  the  old  Thakoor  of  Dhurm- 
kote  will  no  doubt  rescind  his  reproof,  and,  having 
forgotten  Jerry,  will  call  another  little  laddie  "  a 
son  of  heroes."  And  he  may  be ;  but  Jack  Raymond 
himself  will  keep  that  name  for  a  boy,  who  by  that  time 
will  be  at  Eton  or  Harrow.  And  that  boy  will  think  of 
the  graves  in  the  Hollow  of  Heroes,  and  wonder  if  Jan- 
Ali-shan  ever  came  back  to  claim  his. 

He  has  not  yet,  and  so  the  two  hundred  and  odd 
thousand  people  in  the  city  of  Nushapore,  and  the  fifty 
thousand  people  in  cantonments  still  expect  him  to  be 
there  some  day,  ivhen  he  is  xvantcd. 

And  he  will,  no  doubt ;  for  it  is  only  the  Spirit  of 
Slaves  that  dies ;  the  Spirit  of  Kings  lives  for  ever. 


ON  THE  FACE  OF  THE  WATERS 

A  TALE   OF  THE  GREAT   MUTINY 

By  FLORA  ANNIE  STEEL 

Uniform  Edition.        i2mo.        Cloth.        $1.50 


"We  have  read  Mrs.  Steel's  book  with  ever-increasing  surprise  and 
admiration.  It  is  the  most  wonderful  picture.  We  know  that  none  who 
lived  through  the  Mutiny  will  lay  it  down  without  a  gasp  of  admiration, 
and  believe  that  the  same  emotion  will  be  felt  by  thousands  to  whom  the 
scenes  depicted  are  but  lurid  phantasmagoria."  —  The  Spectator. 

"  A  picture,  glowing  with  color,  of  the  most  momentous  and  dramatic 
event  in  all  our  Empire's  later  history.  Mrs.  Steel  has  challenged  com- 
parison with  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling  and  she  need  not  fear  the  result."  — 
Daily  Chrojiicle. 

"  She  knows  the  life  of  which  she  writes  to  its  veriest  details,  and  she 
has  a  flow  of  language  and  sympathy,  enabling  her  to  put  the  stories  in 
most  attractive  form." —  Chicago  Times. 


MISS  STUART'S  LEGACY 

By  FLORA  ANNIE  STEEL 
Uniform  Edition.        i2mo.        Cloth.        $1.50 


"  The  strength  of  the  story  is  in  the  study  of  character,  which  is  fine 
and  highly  sympathetic  in  its  interest,  and  in  the  description  of  Indian  life, 
which  seems  more  realistic  than  any  we  have  met  with  before."  —  Cinciii' 
nati  Comme?-cial- Gazette. 

"The  story  is  a  delightful  one,  with  a  good  plot,  an  abundance  of 
action  and  incident,  well  and  naturally  drawn  characters,  excellent  in  senti- 
ment, and  with  good  ending.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Steel  touches  all  her  stories  with 
the  hand  of  a  master,  and  she  has  yet  to  write  one  that  is  anyway  dull  or 
uninteresting." —  Christian  at  IVork, 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

66   FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 


THE  FLOWER  OF  FORGIVENESS 

By  Flora  Annie  Steel.    Uniform  Edition.     i2mo,  Cloth.    $1.50 

"There  is  a  weird  charm  and  fascination  about  these  sixteen  short 
stories  by  Flora  Annie  Steel.  The  initial  story  gives  the  title  to  the  book. 
They  all  deal  with  Indian  life,  and  evince  the  same  patient  study  into 
Indian  character  as  it  developed  and  manifests  itself  in  various  castes  that 
the  author  has  shown  in  her  former  books.  She  suggests  Kipling,  but  we 
tind  in  her  pages  a  delicacy  that  Kipling  lacks,  while  we  can  but  regard 
her  as  fully  his  equal  in  power  of  graphic  description."  —  Boston  Daily 
Advertiser. 

RED  ROWANS 

By  Flora  Annie  Steel.     Uniform  Edition.     i2mo.  Cloth.     ^1.50 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  meet  with  a  book  which  deserves  unqualified 
commendation,  and  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  Mrs.  Steel's  novel 
belongs  to  this  class.  A  Highland  story,  it  has  all  the  freshness  and  crisp- 
ness  of  atmosphere  which  pervades  Mr.  Black's  work :  indeed,  it  is  not 
unfair  to  the  latter  author  to  say  that  it  resembles  them  in  more  than  one 
feature,  notably  in  the  descriptions  of  fishing  expeditions  in  which  it 
abounds  and  which  are  so  vivid  and  lifelike  that  it  is  difticult  to  believe 
they  were  penned  by  a  woman."  —  Home  Journal. 

TALES  OF  THE  PUNJAB 

By  Flora  Annie  Steel.    Cloth.     i2mo.    $2.00 

"Nothing  can  be  fresher,  more  poetic,  than  these  brilliant  little 
stories.  The  imagination  of  the  young  cannot  but  be  stimulated  and 
strengthened  by  the  delicious  absurdities."  —  Illustrated  American. 

IN  THE  TIDEWAY 

By  Flora  Annie  Steel.    Cloth.     i2mo.     $1.25 

"  Mrs.  Steel  writes  well,  she  writes  as  one  who  must,  and  she  knows 
human  nature  and  the  world.  ...  'In  the  Tideway '  is  a  charming 
story,  entertaining  from  the  first  sentence.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Steel  not  only  has 
choice  material,  but  she  makes  admirable  use  of  it.  Her  story  is  so  sweet, 
her  pen  so  true,  her  narrative  so  pleasing,  the  books  will  give  pleasure  to 
thousands." —  Toledo  Sunday  Journal. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,    NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  IIJJE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


■'  0  f^.  2GCT 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


3  1 


I  nil  Jiii  I  ill  jii I II mil II 
58  00870  8843 


lC(t 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  367  478    5 


